Trouble Me
by MissNemisisFace
Summary: Assorted folks in Thneedville seek therapy. First time I've written in Therapy-session form. Mostly O'Hare, but when he's done, there will be ten "special" sessions of other folks in town, including The Once-ler. I like his the most, so stick around for it. Rated for violence in later chapters, and for language. All sessions finished! Even Once-ler's!
1. O'Hare Session Number One

"Trouble Me"

O'Hare Session One:

"Earliest Memories"

"So, at what age did you realize that you were different than the other kids your age, Mr. O'Hare?" Dr. Pennington asks. He and the businessman had been sitting in that room, in silence, for quite a while.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sir, I mean no offence...but...your dwarfism. When did you first notice that you were _different_?"

"Well, growing up, I wasn't around other kids much. I had heard the term "midget" by the time I was 3, and understood it, but I tried to let it not bother me." He shifts. "I went to the doctor a lot, as a kid. They had to run tests and assessments on me a lot. I thought it was normal-something that everyone did. I was too little to know any different. I didn't notice until Kindergarten. I never went to pre-school. Mom taught me at home. It's why I was fluent in Japanese by the time I was seven. She would teach me English right along with Japanese: "This is a dog, Aloysius. Dog. _Inu_. This is a cat. Cat. _Neko_." Like that-as early as I could remember."

"Tell me a bit about your earliest memories, sir."

"It was peaceful as hell. You know in your file; I was born in 1997. Great time to be alive. Mom listened to a lot of Japanese music, but dad also really liked Stone Temple Pilots, so I remember songs like "_Lady Picture Show_" and "_And So I Know_" playing a lot. Soundgarden, too. Mom used to translate them into Japanese and sing them, play them on her guitar. Uncle Al would come over sometimes with my cousins-Aunt Nanette never liked to visit. She never really _got_ that you can't wear shoes on a tatami floor. A lot of the time, we'd just go to Uncle Al's. I'd play with Genevive, even though she was 8 years older than me. I didn't even mind going to the doctor to be checked out-it was normal. I remember how excited I was to tell dad how brave I was at the doctor's when they took my blood when he would come home, showing him the bandage. Hell, I was four. I already had glasses, then. I got 'em when I was two years old."

"Tell me a bit about your parents, Mr. O'Hare."

"Dad's name is Murray. He used to work at this video game company-designing monsters for this really famous horror title. His hair was orange, feathered, and shoulder-length. He wore glasses and this dagger ear ring. Always that dagger ear ring. I remember the post-the part that connects to the ear, was this garnet. In the design for the ear ring, it was the pommel of the dagger, with the hilt being black, the cross-guard being gold, and the blade being silver. Dad loved the fuck out of that ear ring. Never took it out. He was a bit of a smart-ass and had a slight temper, but he was normally pretty cheerful."

"And your mother?"

"Ah, I was waiting for that-staged that. You shrinks love to ask about mothers-why I talked about dad first." He settles back. "Mom's name is Yukiko. She is Japanese, comes from Nagano. She was particular about the house being clean, so she'd have me help her clean the floors. She'd get this cloth damp and have me scoot around on the floor, pushing it with my hands. Sometimes, she'd get down there with me and do it too, have a "Cleaning race". She has a really thick Japanese accent, too. "_Kuriningu Raisu_!" she would say it-the cleaning race. She really didn't like scary movies, I remember...or scary stories...or spooky pictures. She'd freak out. Dad loved 'em, and loved telling scary stories on Halloween. We'd celebrate it "normal", then have a traditional, Irish Samhain celebration at home. Lambswool, Souling, all that. Dad would tell the best scary stories. Scared the fuck out of me as a kid. He'd have me leave a plate from the meal we'd have out-stick a penny in it. He told me it would keep the bad spirits away." he takes off his shoes and loosens his tie. "Mom was also a musician, as I said earlier. When we were done with the cleaning race, she'd get out this sea-green guitar of hers and play and sing on the back porch until dad came home. We'd usually have dinner then, I'd get my bath, and sit up for a while, watching TV or having mom tell Japanese stories. Despite her fear of 'spooky stuff' she still liked to talk about some of the more..._unsettling_ Japanese folklore and urban legends. I remember being afraid of Aka Manto and Hanako-san for a long-ass time."

"What are Aka Manto and Hanako-san?"

"Aka Manto is this Japanese urban legend about this dude in a red cloak who waits for people to go to the bathroom. Then, he asks you what colour toilet paper you prefer. If you say red, he slits your throat, so that the blood soaks the front of your clothes-red. If you say blue, he chokes you to death. If you say white, or "I don't use toilet paper", then the worst shit-these goddamned hands come out of the fucking toilet and drag you to hell. No way to win with him. Hanako-san, I really shouldn't have been afraid of. You had to "summon" her. You would do it by going into a girls' bathroom, go to the back stall, knock three times on the door and say "_Hanako-san! Are you there?_" Then, one of three things happens. First, you're really unlucky and she _is_ there and takes you to hell...through the fucking toilet again. Second, you see her but escape. She'll be waiting for you in the bathroom for the rest of your life to take you to hell...through the toilet. Third, not a damned thing happens. Damn it Japan, making going to the bathroom scary."

"When did you stop being frightened of them?"

"At around six." He laughs. "Kids raised in an all-white home are afraid of the boogey man. I was scared of fucking Aka Manto and Kuchisake Onna-she cuts your head off if you tell her she's not pretty...and if you tell her she's pretty, she mangles your face like hers. The only way around her was to tell her she looked normal and run for it while she was confused-her face was all cut around the mouth. It went back to the jaw itself. Mom also talked about the yokai, the obake, the yurei. There were so many. _Beto-beto-san_ freaks me out still."

"What is-"

"It is this spirit that follows people around at night, mimicking their footsteps."

"Ah. Thanks. Tell me about when you started school; when you noticed that you were different."

"I noticed right off. Everyone was taller than me, and I was the only Asian kid in class. Most of the other kids just sort of left me alone; ignored me. I was an oddity. A curiosity at first with them looking over at me when they thought I wasn't looking. Eventually, they all decided that I was too weird and left me alone...except one kid. This fuck-face, ass-hole, cockmongling shit-bag."

"That is a lot of expletives to describe one person, Mr. O'Hare."

"His name was Charles Wiggins and he used to bully me. I'm not talking normal "_gimmie yer lunch money_" shit, either. He used to beat me to a bloody pulp every chance he got. I never knew what the fuck his problem was. I never said one word to him."

"When was the first time he beat you?"

"Kindergarten. By then, the "_oh look! We have a half-oriental midget in our class_" thing had worn off and I was alone most of the time. I was sitting over in a corner of the classroom, reading something. I don't remember what. I just always liked finding somewhere quiet where I wouldn't get in anyone's way. Charles comes up to me-not directly, at first, and takes out this hot wheels track-those fucking things. God damn. He starts beating me with it. He says jack-shit, just starts beating me with it. Knocks my glasses off, cuts my face and throws the track aside and starts beating me with his bare-fists. I was screaming, but no one came to help me."

"Why not? That seems like a severe lapse in the school's security. Your teacher should have been paying attention."

"He was outside with a group of other students-kick-a-ball. The other kids inside either didn't give a shit or were too afraid or freaked out to do anything. I mean, what six year old expects to see that shit?" He shudders. "The worst part is, when he's done with me, he just stands there above me, looking down at me with this sneer on his face-admiring his work, I guess...he...he fucking _licks the blood off my cheek_." He shudders again. "Still sicks me out."

"He drank your blood?"

"Licked it off my cheek."

"Did Charles ever have psychiatric treatment; court-ordered or otherwise?"

"He's in the loony bin now. Has been for nearly two decades."

"I would like to cooperate with the mental hospital-try to do a little research on him. That sounds like some sort of psychosis."

"He stuffed me in the toy-box when he was done."

"What?"

"He stuffed me in the toy-box when he was done. It was Friday. I think he hoped no one would find me-no one would notice that I wasn't around. I think he intended for me to bleed to death in there."

"How were you found?"

"The teacher came back in and found my glasses, broken on the floor and saw blood...he could hear me whimpering inside the toy-box."

"What did the school do about that?"

"Jack shit." he says, in a huff. "My dad was madder than hell, threatening to sue. Mom just kept crying, wanting to pull me out of school and put me in the Japanese school."

"Did your mother transfer you, Mr. O'Hare?"

"No. I don't know entirely what happened, but all I know is Charles was back in first grade." The young therapist looks up at the clock.

"We've reached our hour, sir." O'Hare looks up.

"Ah." he fixes his tie and puts his shoes back on. "I suppose I'll see you next week then, Dr. Pennington."


	2. O'Hare Session Number Two

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Two

"The Painful Memories Begin"

"Mr. O'Hare, I managed to get some of the files on Charles Wiggins from the Asylum and I have gone over a lot of the photos of what he did to you during your childhood. I noticed something on the first grade picture." Aloysius feels sick.

"Yes?"

"There is a cut on your right cheek. It was made with a pocket-knife. It doesn't match up with the rest of the things he did to you-the skull fractures from beating your head against that jungle-gym. Then, I notice odd bruising around the cut. Mr. O'Hare...did he drink your blood again?"

"Yeah. He did. He had his stupid, ass-hat friends distract the teachers so they wouldn't notice that Charles and I never came back in, then Charles just descended on me with all the fucking fury of hell. He beats the fuck out of me, dragging me over to the jungle-gym and throws me against it, against the metal bars. I try to get away, and he beats the back of my head against the bars. I thought I was going to die. I started to drift away and he...he took my clothes off and bound me to the bars by my underwear, my arms behind me in between one of the bars. He grabs me by my hair, jerking me upward. I scream and he takes out this red and white pocket knife. He slashes across my right cheek and laps the blood up. It disgusted me. Then, he puts his mouth against my cut and starts drinking the blood out like a vampire. He hit me a couple more times, and left me out there...I was alone out there for two hours. Naked. In the fucking rain. I...I never told anyone about him drinking my blood before. Nadja doesn't even know."

"Nadja, sir?"

"You don't know about her? Hell! She's my fiancé! We've been together since 8th grade!"

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"She doesn't like to be seen so much lately. I don't know what her problem is. She used to love to be in the spotlight with me." He shrugs. "Anyway, you're the first person to know, Doc."

"Why didn't you tell anyone he was doing something so strange to you?"

"I don't know. To tell the truth, the whole thing felt so surreal to me-like I had to be imagining it. People don't drink blood. Vampires do, and vampires aren't real. I was too freaked out by it to say anything." Dr. Pennington leafs through a few more photographs.

"There is only one in which there is no cut on your face-the Fourth Grade incident. Would you like to talk about it?"

"After what he did to me in first grade, Charles got put in juvy, but they let him out when I was in fourth grade. He was allowed to continue his education behind bars, I guess, so he was also in fourth grade. Those three ass-clowns of his, he gets them to help him gang up on me in the hall. They beat me and, like before, take my clothes. This time, Charles breaks my arm. Breaks the fuck out of it-bone sticking out."

"A compound fracture."

"Yeah, that's it. He breaks it while I'm still dressed. It was winter. I was wearing this thick, dark blue sweater. My fucking arm bone gets caught on the fabric. God damn that hurt. Blood all over my shirt. He ties me up with my underwear and throws me in the girls' bathroom. I stay in there forever, girls coming in."

"What did they do? Did they hit you? Did they _touch_ you?"

"They mostly pointed and laughed at my body. I was the first _naked boy_ they had seen. I don't know how long I was in there...the pain. I started getting dizzy, disoriented. God, it hurt so much. Finally, this girl in my class-Helen Cohen-she married Charles by the way-has a kid by him. I don't know if she's just stupid or if it's the "bad boy" thing, or what. Charles is a god damned sociopath. Serial Killer shit. Anyway, Helen comes in and gets the rest of them from standing there and looking at me and shit, covers me up with her jacket, and gets a teacher. I'm taken to the hospital, Charles is taken away again-after the trial and shit." he shifts, visibly uncomfortable with the thought working its way through his head. "I never got my shirt back. They couldn't find it for evidence, either...you don't...you don't think Charles _sucked the blood out of my sleeve_, do you?"

"I do not know, sir." He looks up. "However, do you remember him ever taking anything else from you?"

"Yeah. In Kindergarten, he took the book I was reading. In first grade, he took this toy robot I had in my pocket at the time. Fourth grade, my sweater. In 8th grade, he took a set of pictures Nadja and I had taken together-you know, in the photo booths-with him. In my senior year of High School, it was a keychain Nadja had gotten me. It was the fucking Triforce. I loved my Triforce keychain. Dick move to steal it from me, especially since Nadja got it for me."

"All those things he took were mementos. Serial Killers often take something from their victims." Logan Pennington shakes his head, "The psychologist that interviewed Charles did a shit job, each time. He should have been locked up a lot sooner. The delusional behavior from drinking your blood, the excessive violence, the memento-taking behavior. All signs of a serial killer. I'm going to read up a bit more about Charles and try to gain access to the recordings of the interviews."

"That's all well and good, but you're _my_ shrink, not _his_."

"Mr. O'Hare, if I can prove what I aim to prove, then Charles will never be let out. He will never be able to track you down and hurt you or anyone else ever again. You won't have to live in fear of him getting out." O'Hare sits for a moment.

"...I have been worried about it. All these years, at the back of my mind-when will he be released? Sure, he gets denied each time, but still, I worry that they'll let him out. I know he'll kill me this time, and he won't be fucking nice about it. It doesn't matter how much security I have, Charles could find a way around them all and get to me...and Nadja. I can't let him hurt her."

"Has he ever tried to attack her before, sir?"

"No. He was focused on me, but he always called her "the deformed Kraut bitch"-she is German and was born with some sort of bone-growth disorder. I can never remember what it's called. Anyway, it makes her arms too long for her body, makes her hands long and thin-same with her feet. She is really out of proportion. It _is_ noticeable. Instantly, like my short stature."

"How long are her arms, sir?"

"Let's just say I've never had to reach up for us to hold hands...she's 5'3. Short, but still normal." A wistful look crosses his face. "I still love her, though. She's still beautiful and perfect to me. She can reach everything I can't. She can hold me so close. I love that about her. My arms are too stubby to hold her the way I wish I could." He snaps himself out of his heady mood. "Hour's up. See you next week, Doc." Before Dr. Pennington can say anything, the diminutive business mogul is out the door.


	3. O'Hare Session Number Three

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Three

"Love and Pain"

"I'm gonna talk about the love of my life today, doc!" Aloysius says, his voice full of mirth.

"Well, you're unusually cheerful, Mr. O'Hare." Dr. Pennington smiles back at his patient.

"Me and Nadja met in 8th grade. I still remember it. School was hell for me, Charles made _damn sure_ of that every four years and that year he did something special that I am not talking about today-mind you. I'll tell you about that when I'm damn good and ready, asshole."

"You don't have to call me an asshole, Mr. O'Hare."

"Well, I was sitting there, first week of school and our teacher, Mrs. Zimmerman, introduces her. '_Class, this is Nadja Weiss, all the way from Germany! She's going to be part of our class, now! Say hello to everyone, Nadja!_' Mrs. Zimmerman was always really cheerful. I liked her."

"What did Nadja say?"

"She starts talking, and it's like in the movies-I'm love-struck from the second I hear that thick, German accent of hers. She says: "_Hallo. Mai naem is Nadja Weiss. I moved here vith mai vather two veeks ago. Ve own Weiss Muschik dauntaun. I schpeek English very vell, I think, so do not be afraid to talk to me. I am here to make friends!_" I was awe-struck. Forgive my shitty German accent. It does her accent no justice. She was so pretty, too. Her hair was short, frizzy, and orange. She had these round glasses and was dressed all in lilac-sweater, tights, and flouncy skirt. I loved her flouncy skirts. She wore these white mary-janes-went with the bottom tier of her skirt. Her arms were so long-I'd never seen anyone shaped like her. Long arms, long, thin hands, long feet. Best part is, Mrs. Zimmerman has her sit right next to me. I started feeling hot all over. I couldn't believe that no one else seemed to notice her. Here she was, this exotic flower planted right into this sea of uniformity. Until then, I was the only thing that really stood out. I was the only Asian kid in school-though I'm half-Asian, and I am the only _little person_ in town. I keep looking over at her every few moments, scared that she'll look back and see me. She does, and she smiles. I like how her left eye-tooth comes to a point. A _sharp_ point. It made me sweat, and I could feel my face burn...I could feel _something else_, too, doctor. Ha! You're a man! You know what I'm talking about!"

"Was that the first time you experienced sexual arousal, Mr. O'Hare?" His face turns scarlet.

"Shut up." The doctor hides a smirk.

"I'll take that as a yes, sir." O'Hare scowls at him. "Moving on. What happened after class?"

"Nadja stops me in the hall after class. She says to me "_You're ze boy who kept looking at me. Vat is your naem?_" I stammer, finally able to get my name out. She smiles at me and tells me she likes my name. We start hanging out after that...she was my first friend, and I was her first friend outside of Germany."

"When did you two start dating?"

"Eventually, I couldn't stand it anymore, so I ask my dad how to ask a girl out. He told me to just go up to her and go for it."

"What did you do?"

"I asked her one day while we were having lunch. It was warm, so we were allowed to take our lunch outside. I had a bento, for once, again-I'll get to why that was rare at that point, later, and she had a lunch her father packed for her. I remember it being some soup in a thermos. She had never seen onigiri before, so I shared with her. She shared what she had with me-German Onion Soup-_-Zwiebelsuppe_, I think they call it. We talk about the weather, and she talks about Germany some, and right before we are called back in, I stand up and ask her. I ask her if she's doing anything that weekend and if she isn't, if she wouldn't mind doing something with me. She asks if I'm asking her on a date. I tell her yes, wringing with sweat. She just smiles and kisses me on the forehead. She scribbles her phone number on a slip of paper and tells me to call her that night to set the date up. She runs off and I just slump to the grass."

"That's sweet. What happened at the date? What did you two do?"

"We went to this little place, serves burgers. It's gone now, but it was something. She was excited, wanting to see what "our hamburgers" were like. She liked it, then she took me to her father's music store. There were records in there-all the formats-records, .45s, tapes, 8-track, CD, all that. They had these big, old style listening booths, all painted blue and made to look like the _TARDIS_. Her dad loved _Dr. Who_."

"You mention her father, but not her mother." O'Hare sighs.

"Her parents were divorced and her mother still lived in Germany. Her mother was abusive towards her."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"The music store was amazing. In addition to what I already said, there were instruments in there-guitars, drums, basses, pianos, keyboards, brass instruments, woodwind, all that."

"Do you play any instruments?"

"No. My mom plays guitar, but I don't play any instrument."

"What about Nadja?"

"No. She loves to dance though...if you'd call it dancing. She just sort of moves around with the music, not doing anything in particular. I loved it when she would spin and her skirt would ride up just a little..." He lies back. "She really likes Red Hot Chili Peppers and Judas Priest. I was always more of a Stones guy."

"How did the rest of the date go?"

"We spent the day listening to music-she had some really rare recordings of The Stones, and we listened to that, and RHCP. We had our first kiss, though, to Nina Simone's "_Fly Me to the Moon_". She starts looking at me, smiling, and I lose it. We kiss. Sparks flew. Oh! I was in love, and I didn't give a shit who knew it!"

"Go on."

"We started going steady after that. Boyfriend and Girlfriend. I couldn't believe it, _I_ was someone's _boyfriend_! Me! The "_Half-Jap midget_"!"

"Did you lose your virginity to her?" a look of shame and pain crosses the CEO's face.

"No, and I don't want to talk about it."

"Mr. O'Hare...were you raped...?"

"I _said_ I didn't want to talk about it! Jackass!"

"Mr. O'Hare, I just want to help you."

"And I told you that I would tell you about that when I was damned good and ready." he says, his teeth gritted and rage boiling in his voice.

"If you were, you have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Shut up. Just, shut the fuck up." The two of them sit there for a few minutes. "I can feel you staring at me. You're not going to let it go, are you? Well, fine, dick-hole, I was raped. Happy? I was raped that year, in fact. Is that what you wanted to hear? Huh?"

"Mr. O'Hare-"

"No, fuck-face, you brought this on yourself. You wanted to hear so badly-kept pressing me. Fine. Here you go. Later that year, Charles gets out of juvy and finds out that I have a girlfriend. He gets pissed off for some fucking reason. He has his cronies beat me to a bloody pulp and drag me into the back stall of the boys bathroom." tears roll down his cheeks, but he is too angry to cry. "They took my clothes and tied my wrists behind my back with my own fucking underwear. Charles had this Playboy magazine with this red-haired woman in it. He had me look at it, shouting at me. When I...when I couldn't..."_get it up_"...he called me a faggot and threw me to the bathroom floor. He raped me." he starts to cry, the anger in his voice replaced by despair, helplessness, and pain. "I begged his friends to stop him, to help me, and they just fucking stood there and watched him...I screamed for help, and Charles hit me, told me to shut the fuck up and take it. When he was..._done_...with me, he spit on me and left my clothes in the goddamned toilet. Before he left, he again cut my face and drank my blood, remarking that it tasted no different. He left with his shit-face friends. I was alone."

"How long did you lie there, sir?"

"Only a few moments. Our Middle School was connected to the High School through that hallway. One of the High schoolers found me and went to get help. I was so afraid. So ashamed. The police were called in. They arrested Charles and his friends. I was taken to the hospital and my parents were brought there with me. Mom sobbing so hard and dad really pissed off. He wanted Charles dead for what he did to me. The rape kit...you ever have one done on you, doc?"

"No, I can't say tha-"

"Didn't think so. It's almost as bad as being raped again. They...had to get samples...from _inside me_...it hurt. They took pictures of my body, of the bruises all across me. A dentist had to be called in, because he fucked my braces up when he beat me. Broke my glasses, too. Then, I had to tell the police all about it. Every single filthy, humiliating detail. I wanted to die...but Nadja...she didn't come to see me while I was still in the hospital. At the time, I thought that she wouldn't want to see me anymore, but it was because she knew how afraid and ashamed I must have been, she didn't want to shame me further by...she didn't want me to have to have her see me like that." he lies with his back to his therapist, crying softly. "Then, fun of all fun, the court hearing. The trial. I had to tell the whole court what happened to me. The jury looked at the pictures of my body. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me." he looks over at Dr. Pennington. "Thanks, dick. I was in a great mood when I came in."

"Did you receive any sort of therapy after the incident?"

"No."

"You had to suffer like this all these years?"

"I just wanted to forget it ever happened."

"Would you like to talk about something else, now, Mr. O'Hare?"

"No. I was perfectly fine to tell you all about Nadja and how happy she made me then and how happy she still makes me, but _no_, you had to drag the ol' rape tale out, didn't you? Do you fuckers get paid more if you can make the patient cry?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. O'Hare."

"You should be, cock-bite."

"I deserve that." the therapist says, trying to disregard all the insults Mr. O'Hare had been launching at him.

"You're damn skippy you do."

"Do you want to leave?"

"No...if you don't mind. I'd just like to lie here and cry until the hour runs out. I pay your ass enough that I can sit in here and talk about what goddamned songs I like if I want."

"Yes, Mr. O'Hare. You take as much time as you need." The smaller man lies on the sofa, facing away from his therapist in a fetal position, sobbing softly.


	4. O'Hare Session Number Four

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session 4

"Love Springs Eternal"

"It's been a couple of weeks, Mr. O'Hare. Would you like to talk about Nadja again?" O'Hare is still somewhat upset with Dr. Pennington. In a huff, he sits down on the couch.

"Yeah, sure."

"If you're still angry at me, you-"

"Shut up and let me talk." he says. "Well, even after that..._incident_, Nadja still wanted to be with me. We dated every weekend and spent much of our time together, both in school and out. I went to her father's record store a lot. She worked there. On evenings she'd have off, she'd come to my house. She liked it, said that our house was very pretty, that mom had done a very good job decorating. She had to take her shoes off and put on the slippers like everyone else, and she liked that, too. She said it was like going to Japan without going to Japan. She said that our house was very different than the apartment that she and her father shared above the music store. That it was very tranquil, very relaxing in my house. I took her up to my room, upstairs-my mom shouting for me to leave the door open. Heh. She'd come in every so often offering tea and snacks. Did mom really think I would be willing to have sex so soon after..._that_? Kissing, I was okay with, as long as it didn't get too intense. Nadja respected that, and was careful with me. Nadja said that her favorite part about my house was the name-plate on the front door. O'Hare written in English and in Japanese." he takes a slip of paper and a pen. "It's written like this in Japanese." he hands the doctor the paper: オヘア "She loved that I could speak, read, and write in Japanese. She said it all looked so pretty, and had me write her name in Japanese for her." he writes it down on another scrap of paper: ナージャ ワイス. "She used to have me speak in Japanese to her a lot. She would speak to me in German a lot, too. We gradually taught each other those languages."

"How long did it take for you to recover?"

"A few months. I still have nightmares-it's why I'm here. Nadja wanted me to get help, wanted me to talk to someone about the horrible things that have happened to me. She loves me that much that she wants me to be able to move past what happened to me; wants me to be happy and for Charles motherfuckin' Wiggins to not have a goddamned ring around my nose, decades later."

"When was the first time you saw her apartment?"

"Not long after she first visited my house. I realized that I had only seen the music store, not the apartment above where Nadja and her father lived."

"What was it like?"

"You had to access it from outside, by way of these metal stairs. It was really small-just two really small bedrooms-one for Nadja and one for her father. The bathroom was tiny and cramped with just a shower-no proper tub like at my house. There was a laundry room built into the kitchen that had a bar that served as their dining room, and a small living room off to the side of it. The living room was full of records-most of them still in their original cellophane wrapping. She said that those were the ones her father did not want to sell. Her dad's room, I got a peek inside, was very barren. Just his bed and dresser. Very plain, but that was all there was room for. Nadja's room-painted all lilac. Her bed was small, a twin with all purple bedding. The floor was carpeted. I took my shoes off when I came in, as a force of habit, but the carpet felt so nice under my feet-a world different from the tatami at home. She had a desk and a short dresser. Most of her clothes were in this mirrored closet. She had a few Red Hot Chili Peppers posters on her wall, and a Judas Priest "_British Steel_" poster above her desk. She had "_Blood Sugar Sex Magick_" above her bed. She gave me a vinyl copy of "_The Rolling Stones_"-you know, their first album. I didn't have a turn table, but I was so happy to get it. Mom had it framed. I still have it in my office at the main building. I don't trust the blimp with it. I had to do something for her. Christmas was coming up." he smiles. "I spoke with her father one day, and learned the words to "_Fly Me to the Moon_" in German and my mother learned to play it. I learned how to sing it, and for Christmas, I sang it for her while my mom played it on her guitar. Her eyes sparkled, but she was silent the entire song. Those were tears in her eyes. She assured me that they were happy tears. When I finished the song, she just ran to me, took me into her arms and kissed me, deeply, passionately. Over and over again. My mom left the room. It was the first time we ever told each other we loved each other. We were sophomores. That summer, we slept together for the first time." he shakes his head. "Nadja had been planning it God only knows how long. She had everything, even taking birth control pills. She sprung it on me that night, right before our junior year began. It was our first time, it wasn't magical, but I was glad that I was with her, even though...I...it had already been taken away from me...We started being intimate a lot. We could barely keep our hands off each other." he laughs. "One night, Nadja had to close up the music store, so I was there with her. We were listening to "_Let's Spend the Night Together_", and she just tells me to go put the "closed" sign up, close the blinds on the store, and lock up. We were almost seniors at this point, by the way. We go into one of those _TARDIS_ listening booths, put on "_Change (in the House of Flies)_" by The Deftones and go at it. We go at it too hard, and tip the damned booth over...on its door. She starts swearing in German. I can't find my pants. I freak out, thinking her dad is going to fucking kill me. Turns out, she told him that we were sleeping together ages ago-even before the first time; that she was planning on sleeping with me. He was okay with that." he shrugs. "Europeans, I guess." He sits back. "Well, we end up stuck in there all night until her dad has to help us roll it onto its side. He's fucking laughing-we were both clothed, by the way, but he knew what we went into the listening booths to do. He told us to be more careful next time. Can you believe that? Most fathers would have thrown my short ass through the roof for that."

"Perhaps that's just how her father was."

"It was. He was so mellow. I've never seen him even remotely mad. Always so..._jovial_. Who says Germans are a hateful people?" He lies down, putting his feet on the side of the sofa. "We stayed together after that, and after graduation-which I had to miss because of Charles again, we move in together, into a little apartment. I propose to her, and we are still together. Together forever. Aloysius and Nadja." he smiles.

"What did Charles do to you this time?" He looks over, irritated.

"Really? After how pissed I was at you last time for asking about that cockmongler?"

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"I missed prom and graduation because he snuck into the school my senior year, beat the hell out of me in woodshop, and put my dick in a vice. That's what got him locked up in the loony bin for good. They should have done that years ago. It took me forever to heal from that. I still wasn't completely healed when I took the job as a janitor." He looks up at the ceiling. Wistfully, he says: "You think I should stage a prom for Nadja and me? Make up for what that ass-hat made us miss?"


	5. O'Hare Session Number Five

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Five

"Family Fun"

"You know, I had it hard growin' up, but there were fun times, too, Doctor. I won't act like there weren't; I'm not some sort of emo crybaby. Sure, going to Japan every summer was fun, but the most fun I had was going over to my Uncle Al's house and visiting him, Aunt Nanette, Cousin Cael, and Cousin Genevive. Uncle Al was the coolest. Long hair, played guitar, smoked cigarettes _and_ weed, everybody loved him. I think, for a while, I wished I could have been _that_ Aloysius O'Hare instead of _this_ Aloysius O'Hare.

Cousin Cael was ten years older than me-never had much to do with me, but Genevive was only eight years older than me. She played with me all the time and didn't treat me like a kid; she treated me like someone her age. She was always so sick, though. She almost died the first time four years before I was born. Uncle Al let her play in the snow, and she ended up with double-pneumonia. Then, the exact day I was born, she had some sort of reaction to this immunization and had to be rushed to the hospital. She was in a coma for two weeks. She was in and out of the hospital all the time, but when she wasn't, she was the most cheerful person ever. Looking back, she probably smoked weed, too. She just acted different than Uncle Al.

She would get so worked up, work herself into a frenzy about all sorts of shit: bands, books, video games, the fucking cosmos itself. I loved hanging around her. She always told me that I was the "_coolest little dude ever_". I liked that about her, she loved everybody. She also swore a lot. My mom didn't like swearing at home, so it made me feel big to hear it. They all swore so much-Uncle Al, Aunt Nanette, Cael-but Genevive _outswore_ 'em all. She and Uncle Al were the coolest people in the world to me when I was a little boy. My mom and Dad were great people, but, looking back, my dad was a little bit of a horse's ass when it came to mom's culture and mom had one hell of a temper-it's where I get my temper. They'd argue sometimes. When they would, or when I was bored, I'd sneak off to Uncle Al's. Mom and Dad always knew where to find me. They would fuss at me so much, but Uncle Al was always like: "_Nah, it's cool. Little dude is welcome here anytime. Me and Nanette'll feed him and shit, and Genevive loves having him around._" He always pulled my ass out of the fire."

"It sounds like you really admired your Uncle and cousin."

"I did. I still do. Their house was so different than ours. Mom loved to decorate, and while the house looked normal on the outside, inside it was tatami floors and shoji screen on the wall, banzai trees; all sorts of shit. It was like mom made our house her own little Japan. She made it exactly like a traditional Japanese house inside-I even slept on a futon on the floor. Alright for me, I guess, as short as I am and was even then. Uncle Al's was a world of difference. They always had to rent and were in a new house every few years because they couldn't pay their rent very well. Not a single stick of furniture in that house matched and was all second hand. There were paintings of random shit and photographs all around-but the kitchen always had all sorts of stuff to eat...especially cakes-but no one was fat except Aunt Nanette. They were all skinny as hell. And Nanette wasn't even that fat, she couldn't have been eating all that. I didn't get to go to Cael's room much, but he kept it pretty bare except for his bed, dresser, a turtle, and a drum-set. Genevive's room was awesome. She had a few lava-lamps, two black-lights, her bass guitar and amp, all these band posters and maps-she really liked maps for some reason, and this huge stereo-turn-table, 8-track, two cassette deck, 3 CD changer, turner, MP3 input. She also had a lot of books. Genevive read all the time-it's how I read a lot of the books I read as a kid-"_Animal Farm_", "_The Metamorphosis_", "_Faust_", "_1984_". Big-ass scary spider in there, too. She called it Boris, like the song by _The Who_."

"It sounds like she was a very big influence on your early life, Mr. O'Hare."

"It was always the best time ever when I'd visit. Uncle Al would cook chicken or burgers or a pizza or something, we'd sit on the back porch, he'd play his guitar and we'd all sing. Sometimes, Genevive would sing, too. I always wanted to, but was scared."

"Why were you scared, Mr. O'Hare? The way you describe the times with your Uncle Al, it was very laid back."

"It's just...I really shouldn't say. She was the perfect mother in every other way it's just...my mom was in a band that was really popular in the Japanese part of town, and she always wanted me to sing. She even wrote a song specifically for me to sing-she said "_wrote it for my voice_". It was in English, even. She never wrote songs in English. She always made me sing it."

"Why would that make you nervous?"

"I guess it just made it to where singing didn't seem like something fun, like it was obligated of me like at home. It doesn't make any sense, I know. Genevive and Cael performed with Uncle Al from the time Cael was 11 and Genevive was 9, and they loved it."

"No one is the same, Mr. O'Hare."

"But they loved it-always sang, always carted their instruments out, too. Cael could sing the _fuck_ out of _Aerosmith_-_Boston_, too, for that matter, and _Def Leppard_. Genevive was good with _The Black Crows_, _Foreigner_, and early _Black Sabbath_. Uncle Al, he could sing anything. I always liked how we would do _Pink Floyd_'s "_Welcome to the Machine_"-it gave me the chills. I should probably tell him that-Uncle Al did tell me that that is the best compliment a singer can receive..."

"Mr. O'Hare, did your mother ever have you perform with her band? Did she ever have you perform alone, with that song or not?"

"No. I sang it for Nadja once, when she was visiting around Christmas when we were 16. Nadja's love of music sparked her discussion with my mother about her music, and my mom mentioned writing a song for me to sing. Nadja absolutely had to hear it, no matter how much I protested. Then mom got in and made me sing it. I tell you, I've done a lot of risky shit in my life, dealt with a lot of high pressure shit-but goddamn that was scary."

"Well, there could be the problem. Cael and Genevive performed from an early age. For them, it was routine. They received praise for it, and it further reinforced performing as a fun, sociable, and normal thing. You were not made to perform, and as such, never received unbiased positive feedback, so you were anxious about your abilities. It is also possible that your mother put pressure on you to live up to her legacy."

"She did! She put pressure on me to do better. "_Aloysius-kun, you did well on that one, but try a little harder on the next!_", and make me do it again. She would always say to me, "_Aloysius-kun, music is the heart of mankind. When you grasp music, when you wield it with your own heart, you grasp the heart of mankind. It is the language of the soul._" It sounded crazy, but my cousin Genevive used to say that music was what made life worth living." he pauses for a moment, fidgeting a bit, "It's weird that I went into business, isn't it? I have music on both sides. My mom's band _Iro no Uta_, my Uncle Iori being a big rock star in Japan on my mom's side-on my dad's side, Uncle Al and his kids were musicians. I hear that though she didn't play, Grammy Eliora was really into rock and would sneak _Black Sabbath_, _Pink Floyd_, _Led Zeppelin_; all that into the house because Grandfather Percival thought it was the _devil's music_. They fought about it all the time, according to Dad. Grandfather calling Grammy a "_hell-whore_", a "_succubus_", "_flame-haired demoness_", and a "_temptress_"; all with so much hate and malice. Didn't divorce because Grandfather was a very devout Catholic."

"Tell me about your grandparents, Mr. O'Hare. Why do you call Eliora "_grammy_", but Percival "_grandfather_"?"

"Did you not catch the "_devout Catholic_" part of what I said? He was very formal, very straight-laced. He was also critical and dogmatic-everyone was going to Hell, to him. Grammy Eliora was much more laid back...sometimes. You know, there were times she just loved to piss Grandfather off. She almost named my Uncle Aloysius "_Alistair_" after Alistair Crowley, just to piss Grandfather off."

"Tell me a bit more about Grammy Eliora, Mr. O'Hare."

"Well, she was a full-time heroine addict, for one. I never really got to be around her much, and she died when I was about seven. One Christmas when I was about five, we went over to visit. She had shot up, apparently, and she comes busting in the living room while we're all sitting around watching Bing fuckin' Crosby on the TV and shouts: "_SOMEBODY HUG ME! I'M ROLLING SO HARD RIGHT NOW!_" with her arms all stretched out. I didn't know what they were at the time, but I could see needle-tracks and her eyes, the pupils were big as all outdoors. Dad just sits there, dumbfounded, while Uncle Al gets up and hugs her. He took her out of the room. She would vary-I guess that's how heroine works. Sometimes, she'd just sit in the corner of the living room-she had a chair, but liked that goddamned corner for some reason-all slumped up in sweat pants and a hoodie. Wouldn't talk to anyone and just sort of laid around. Other times, she'd be the most cheerful person ever, like the "_rollin' so hard_" incident."

"Tell me about the "_rollin' so hard_" incident, Mr. O'Hare."

"Well, Uncle Al took her out of the room and my dad followed him, telling Mom to sit in there with me and Grandfather. He muttered something along the lines of "_going to burn in Hell for acting like that so close to the Lord's Birthday_", I was sitting there, not knowing what the hell was going on. I ask my mom why they're taking her away because she seemed like she was really happy and just wanted a hug. I also asked what _Rollin'_ meant. My mother didn't tell me anything."

"Did your grandfather say things like that often?"

"Oh hell, yeah. Everyone was going to go to Hell for something. Speaking too loudly on the Sabbath, or, God Forbid, missing Mass-burn in Hell. Meat on a Friday-burn in Hell. Celebrate Buddhist holidays-burn in Hell-he told me that when I was 4, by the way. Be a Buddhist-burn in Hell. Marry a Buddhist-burn in Hell. Everything resulted in burn in Hell."

"How did what he say to you make you feel?"

"Tie your shoes wrong-burn in Hell-I don't know. I was scared. Dad just told me that Grandfather was a crazy old man and that I shouldn't listen to him. I always felt like he didn't like me because of me being raised in a half-Buddhist house, doing Buddhist things."

"How did that make you feel? That your grandfather didn't care for you."

"I just sort of ignored him, I guess. He was that grumbly, pissed-off guy mumbling that everyone was going to go to Hell every so often over the edge of his newspaper to me. I always liked how Grammy Eliora would handle his "_going to hell, the lot of you_" tirades. She'd stick out her tongue and make devil horns with her fingers at him, turn on her heels, and walk out of there laughing at him, sometimes shouting the words to _AC/DC_'s "_Highway to Hell_". I loved Grammy Eliora. She was funny to me, though I didn't understand. I just knew my Grammy was very, very different from everyone else's Grammies and from my obaa-san. She was loud, dressed weird-always long sleeves, even in summer, swore all the time, and loved rock. I thought she was the coolest Grammy ever."

"Were you raised Catholic, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Around Grandfather, I was Catholic. Dad would always make sure I had a rosary and all that, cross around my neck. He had me Christened not long after I was born and always made sure I was at Mass-dad went to the same Cathedral as Grandfather-he sure as hell would know if I wasn't there, and then dad would get the bitching of a life-time. I took Communion, had my Confirmation when I was 14, was Baptized, Eucharist, all that. Dad did it to keep my Grandfather from being upset."

"I'm not supposed to ask this, but are you Catholic, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Only around Grandfather-he's still alive, you know. In truth, I don't know. I guess I'm Agnostic." The young therapist decides to change the subject.

"How old were you when you learned of your grandmother's drug problem?"

"Long after she died. Out of the blue one day, Dad just tells me that Grammy Eliora really died of a heroine over-dose and that she had been using for years-decades. That it was the reason she acted the way she did."

"How did that make you feel?"

"I don't know. I didn't really feel anything." He straightens his tie and sits up straight.

"What about your Takanawa grandparents? And your Uncle Iori?"

"Ojii-san-that's my grandpa; how it's said in Japanese, and what he'd have me call him. He was kind of quiet. Mom said he used to be a boxer when she was a girl. He did have a room with a heavy bag in it, and some mornings, I'd find him in there training against it. His name was Tetsuya. He managed to win a couple Championships back in his day, but was a really mellow guy. He was still really strong-he was shorter than Grandfather, but I know ojii-san could kick his ass. I never saw him get angry or even raise his voice. He was like a mountain, strong and silent. It was such a shock when he died of cancer, how quickly he wasted away. Obaa-san, my grandma, was a florist named Chizuko. How the hell they met, I have no idea. She was very protective of all of us, even my dad. She liked me a lot, because I was her only grand-child, her _magomusuko_-grandson. Weird thing is, neither of them would call me Aloysius or even Al-they called me "_Iori-kun_". Iori being my middle name, and _-kun_ often added to boys' names as a form of endearment, I guess. For girls, it's _-chan_. I'm not sure if they couldn't pronounce Aloysius, or if they just didn't like my "white" first name."

"You were named after both of your uncles, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"I don't really have much left to say about Ojii-san and Obaa-san. I loved them, but they weren't the most engaging people out there. When Ojii-san passed away, Obaa-san moved back with us. She never bothered to learn English, if that tells you anything." He shifts a bit, this time lying down on his side. "My uncle Iori was a rock-star in Japan. "_The Dirty-Golden Voice of Shibuya!_" "_The Sexiest Man in Japan!_" all the magazines said. I didn't meet him often, he was often far too busy being an icon to be an Uncle, but I still received Nengajo and Otoshi-dama from him each Joya-no-Kane. Once, he gave me what equaled $10,000 in yen in my Otoshi-dama. Mom freaked out, thinking it had to be a mistake. Nope, turns out, he just wanted to give that much for the hell of it. Later we found out it was not for the hell of it. Turns out, he has a daughter by a groupie. He was sending me all that money to spite the girl's mother."

"Did you ever meet this other cousin?"

"No, and I bet there are a lot of others. I hear my Uncle Iori is a real lothario."

"How did the rest of your family handle this?"

"Obaa-san could care less, Ojii-san, intially was excited to have a _magomusume_-granddaughter, but after a while, he lost interest, too." He shrugs. "Probably where they never really communicated with her."

"Otoshi-dama, Nengajo, Joya-no-Kane. What are these, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Joya-no-Kane is a Holiday celebrated pretty much right after Christmas until New Year 's Day. Otoshi-dama are gifts of money given to children on New Year's Day, and Nengajo are letters sent to family and friends to tell them about your year and ask about their year."

"Ah. Thank you for clearing that up for me."


	6. O'Hare Session Number Six

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Six

"Friends on the Other Side"

"When I said I didn't have any friends growing up, I wasn't telling the complete truth." O'Hare says, shifting a bit and taking a drink from the water he had brought with him. Pennington looks up from his scribblings.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. They just weren't here. All my friends were in Japan."

"Tell me about them."

"The first I met was my mom's best friend's son, Kaito Takanouchi. First thing he says to me is that my first name is weird. He decides to just call me "_gaijin migeto_"-Foreign Midget."

"Making friends already. How did what he call you make you feel?"

"I had heard the term midget before, and though it bothers me, I try to let it not. I knew damn well that I was foreign. _Gaijin_ didn't mean shit to me...it's just the other kids I befriended all called me Iori instead-like Obaa-san and Ojii-san. Why Kaito couldn't have just done that...I guess he was just an ass."

"How many other friends did you have-if you'd count Kaito as a friend?" He narrows his eyes.

"I don't count Kaito as a friend...not really a bully, but not a friend, either." he shuts his eyes, trying to remember everyone. "There was this brother and sister I used to hang out with-Naiko and Zenjiro Yamaoka. They lived next door to my obaa-san and ojii-san's house. Naiko was my age, with Zenjiro being a couple years older. Up the street was Daichi Ikeda. He was smart, loved orange. Everything was orange with him. Across from him was Haruka Tanaka-girly-girl. I wasn't very close with her. In the same building as her was Ichiro Hayashi. He was an awkward-looking boy, but always wanted to do whatever the rest of us wanted to do. Satomi Nakamura lived in the same building as Daichi and was a real tomboy. Loved to get in fights, especially with Katsuro Ito, but she'd fight any body. Out of all of them, I guess I was closest to Naiko. I mean, she was my age and lived next door."

"Tell me about Naiko, Mr. O'Hare."

"She had short, slightly wavy black hair, round glasses. Always wore a hat with cat ears on it, a dress and a pair of pants-never got that, and tennis shoes and sweat bands. First left-handed person I ever met. I guess I was the first "_gaijin_" and "_little person_" she met. Her dad, Yukio, was friends with my dad-her dad was the guide when we went and saw the Haikyo when I was 10. It was because Yamaoka-san was very obsessed with ghosts, to the point that Naiko was, too. EVP, Ghost-photography, all that. He didn't speak much English, and dad's Japanese was shit, but they were friends to some degree."

"Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. O'Hare?" he laces his fingers.

"I'd prefer to not answer that, today, doctor." He takes another drink. "Anyway, I remember, when I was eight years old, I woke up with Naiko sitting in my room. My obaa-san and ojii-san lived in a traditional Japanese house-one of few left in Nagano at the time. I slept on the floor. I don't know if you've ever been to Nagano during the summer, doc, but it gets hot as fuck there-humid. I slept in my underwear, and apparently, I had kicked the blanket off in my sleep. She wakes me up, shaking me, and puts her hand over my mouth-"_shhh! Iori! Don't scream-keep quiet_!" she says to me. I am embarrassed as fuck and cover myself up with my blanket and ask her what she's doing in my room at freakin' midnight. She is so excited-wild-eyed, even and she whispers to me that we're going ghost hunting-to get dressed and hand my shoes out the window to her."

"Did you go with her, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Yeah. When Naiko Yamaoka said "_We're going ghost hunting_", you fucking went ghost hunting. She'd make _damn sure_ of that." He lies back. "Anyway, we go to the elementary school-one of 'em anyway-the one Naiko went to. She breaks in-one of the back windows was always left unlocked and just climbs in, picks me up, and lifts me into the school. I really hate when people just pick me up like a damned rag-doll. Pisses me off."

"What happened in the school, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Nothing, really. The two of us just wandered around, with Naiko talking about supposedly haunted classrooms Zenjiro had told her about. Not a thing in any of them. She's really frustrated by this point, and grabs me by my hand, dragging me into the girl's bathroom. What she did in there, God."

"What did she do?"

"She tried to summon fucking Hanako-san is what she did. As you recall, I was very fucking frightened of Hanako-san and Aka Manto as a child. She goes to the back stall; I'm just sort of cowering near the door, muttering that this is a bad idea over and over again. She knocks three times and calls out: "_Hanako-san! Are you there?_" three damned times. I can _hear_ my heart pounding and the blood rushing behind my ears. My mouth is dry. All I want to do is grab Naiko and run out of there as fast as I fucking can."

"Did anything happen?"

"No, and it really pissed Naiko off. She goes up to me and grabs me by my wrist, drags me over to the stall. She says that it didn't work because I didn't do it, too. I tell her I don't want to, that I'm really scared and just want to go home. She tells me to stop being so scared and just do it, reminding me that we are big, brave 8-year-olds. I do it, knock three times and say the damned chant with her. Thank God nothing happened. She always did that shit to me, made me go to ghost places with her, and I always went until I was 11 and she moved to Shinjuku. Looking back, I think I may have had a little bit of an early crush on Naiko. I mean, hell, why else would I go looking for ghosts with her all night most nights in the summer?"

"What about when you met Nadja, did you still have feelings for Naiko?"

"I don't know. What does it matter? Naiko was a crush. Nadja is the real thing-love."

"Do you know what Naiko is doing now, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Yeah, actually. Apparently, she has this ghost-show on TV in Japan. Always figured she'd do something with ghosts. Well, _had_ a show. The show stopped last year. Apparently, Naiko saw something she didn't really want to see and didn't want to do the TV show anymore. This one ass-clown, Atsushi Kagawa, does the show now." He fidgets with his tie for a moment. "I saw the recording of her last episode-the one that wasn't aired in Japan. She sent it to me, with "_Proof, Iori!_" written on it. I watched it with Nadja; explaining to her that Naiko was a friend of mine as a child and that this was an episode of her show that she wanted me to see."

"What was on the episode?"

"...I have never seen her so afraid. She and her camera crew go to this hotel and they see shit. I mean, I used to watch the show sometimes, off and on, after I learned about it, and they sometimes catch what _could_ be a ghost, but this was...it was clear. The last ten minutes of it are just Naiko crouched down in the floor, trembling and sobbing. I mean, the station's official statement is that her contract ran out and she didn't renew and that all leaked versions of that episode are hoaxes...but...the way she was sobbing like that and that thing, in the back-ground. Christ, I saw it, too. Nadja saw it, the camera crew saw it, and Naiko sure as fuck saw it."

"What was it? What scared Naiko so badly, Mr. O'Hare?" The short man points to the clock.

"Hour's up. See you next week." He stands and leaves, ignoring his therapist's question.


	7. O'Hare Session Number Seven

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Seven

"Haikyo and Odaiba fun"

"In our last session, Mr. O'Hare, you mentioned that your father took you to something called "_haikyo_" when you were ten years old and that your friend Naiko's father served as a guide. What is a _haikyo_?" The stubby air-salesman sits up and gnaws his lower lip.

"I don't know if I want to talk about it." He sighs. "Haikyo are abandoned places-theme-parks, hotels, hospitals, sometimes entire towns and villages. You see, when we'd go to Japan every summer, my dad was a sullen turd the entire time and mom figured that visiting haikyo would be a good way to get him in a better mood. He loved spooky shit, and most haikyo are pretty spooky. Well, dad was a gaijin and didn't know Japan very well, so he got Mr. Yamaoka to serve as a guide. Problem was, dad's Japanese is shit and Mr. Yamaoka barely spoke any English at all. They needed a translator. Mom wanted dad to take Ojii-san, but dad told her: "_Yeah, because that's exactly what I want to do; spend all fucking day with Tetsuya. It'll be fun._" After a bit of arguing, mom let him take me with him. I felt like the coolest 10 year old in the world. I was getting to go around to all these Haikyo! I was a little put out that Naiko wouldn't be going, too, but I got over it as soon as I saw "_The Clinic of the Brave_"-right there in Nagano. It was all sorts of spooky, the rope hanging from the ceiling, especially. Like the doctor hanged himself with it, I bet. We went to _Asama Volcano Museum_. It wasn't as cool, but it was still cool. Then, Mr. Yamaoka decided that we'd travel outside of Nagano prefecture, to "_The Abandoned Dodge of Yamanashi_", "_Dialand Hotel_", "_Doctor's Shack_", "_Smallpox Isolation Ward_", "_Irozaki Jungle Park_", "_Sports World Izunagoaka_", "_Ibaraki Hospital_", "_Nara Dreamland_"...and finally, "_Gulliver's Kingdom_"...the scariest of them all...especially because of what it was next to."

"What was it next to, Mr. O'Hare?" Fear twists his features.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Sir?"

"I _said_ I don't fucking want to talk about it. You want me to get up and leave, right fucking now? I will." He glares at Pennington.

"Alright, sir. You don't have to talk about it, but I think if it's bothering you this much, you should talk about it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. I'll talk about it when I'm ready. You're not pulling the shit you pulled last time." He calms down a little. "I will talk about the time we went to Odaiba, though."

"Alright. Let's talk about Odaiba, then, Mr. O'Hare." He smiles.

"I was five years old. Mom and dad took me. I loved it in Odaiba and would go again any chance I got as I got older-a lot of the time going with my friends. Odaiba is the best. It's a resort town, you see."

"Ah."

"The best part-my favorite part, anyway, is _Rainbow Bridge_. At night, they light it up. You can see it all the way from the main island. The Ferris Wheel, too. 115 meters tall! That's about 378 feet! They light it up at night, too. Each go around takes about fifteen minutes, and is awesome. I always had to go on the Ferris wheel at least once per visit. The TV station is cool looking, too. Odaiba is the best. I think we should have something like the TV station building here in Thneedville. It would be bad-ass, especially because that exact TV Station Building appeared in one of my favorite shows growing up. It got destroyed in it, yeah, but still. It was cool seeing it in real life. Surreal, even. I half expected VenomVamdemon to pop up and destroy it."

"VenomVamdemon?"

"Never mind."

"_Leisureland_ was cool, too. It had batting cages, an arcade-a BIG arcade, darts, a bowling alley, a big food court, and a haunted house._ Leisureland_ was cool. I'd love to go back to Odaiba someday."


	8. O'Hare Session Number Eight

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Eight

"Secret Sister"

O'Hare sits down on the couch, barely able to contain himself.

"Well, you look awfully excited today, Mr. O'Hare. What's on your mind?" He smirks.

"She's got a big sister."

"Who does?" He lies back.

"Nadja. She has an older sister back in Germany. Her name is Rosilda and she is seven years older than Nadja."

"Why does she not live in Thneedville, too?"

"She was 18 when Gustav and Gretchen-Nadja's parents-divorced. She elected to not go with Gustav and remained there in Leipzig."

"How did you find out about her, sir?"

"We were looking at photo albums, and I notice one of Nadja, her dad, and who I guess is her mom and someone else-a girl who looked a lot like Nadja, but older. Nadja snatched the picture up, thinking I wouldn't see it. I saw it, and I wheedled it out of her who the other girl is. It's her older sister, Rosilda."

"Why did Nadja try to keep Rosilda from you?" He shakes his head.

"Eh, she said that Rosilda was a really shitty sister-that she never cared about her. Never helped her when their mom would hit her. Treated her like a deformed freak, too, openly calling herself "_the pretty one_". She told me when their mom would beat her, she'd cry out to Rosilda for help, but she'd just turn music up louder and ignore her."

"Does Nadja keep up contact with her sister?"

"The fuck do you think? If I was Nadja, I'd never want to talk to her again, either...she did call, once. After my company took off and word of its success spread internationally, Rosilda calls Nadja up, reading that she and I are together. I don't know what the hell was being said, because they were speaking in German and Nadja sounded madder than I had ever heard her. At the time, I thought it was her mother, but looking back, the only thing I was able to pick out of that German wharblegarble: "_You were never there for me. I don't want to speak to you ever again. Don't ever call me._" makes more since for her sister than it does her mother. Sometimes, we get letters, and Nadja always burns them." He pauses for a moment. "You want to know a secret?"

"What's that, Mr. O'Hare?"

"I managed to get at one before her. Rosilda is sorry for the way she treated Nadja. The letter said: "_Nadja, I am sorry that I was never there. I am sorry that I never helped you when mama would hit you. I'm sorry I never told papa; that he had to find out on his own. Please forgive me. I want us to be sisters again. Please, forgive me, Nadja._" Just, you know, in German."

"Did you show her this letter, Mr. O'Hare?"

"And have a shit-storm of really angry German yelling rain down on me? Nope." He sighs. "Why does she do that? When I'm mad, I don't fire off in Japanese. Why does she feel the need to bitch and fuss in German?" He sniggers. "Once, I did. She was going off on me, not wanting to hear a word I had to say-just screaming in German, and I yell "_KITE YO_!" at her-"LISTEN!" in its most stern, aggressive, "_you'd better do it_" form. Shut her up, and we started speaking, calmly, in English. Diffused that argument. When she comes at me in German, I don't fucking know what to do. I mean, I like the little German here and there, the "_leibhaber_", that shit, but the angry yelling...the German just makes it sound madder." He fidgets. "I've always had to be around other languages. Like, when my mom found out that Nadja and I were sleeping together when I was almost 17. Obaa-san was living with us. It was summer, I was getting ready to start my senior year of High School. Nadja snuck in my bedroom window the night previous and, well...you know." A smirk crosses his lips. "Nadja used to do that a lot, but this morning, we accidentally slept in. Mom came upstairs to get me for breakfast-Okayu and Tamagoyaki with a little daikon radish on the side, I love that-and catches us in bed. Mom loses her shit, doc. She just hits the roof, running out of my room, screaming in Japanese. I tell Nadja we have to get dressed, but we're both pretty fucking scared to go downstairs. My mom had a temper, but I'd never seen her go off like that."

"What happened after that?"

"Apparently, mom got Obaa-san to complain to her about it, and the two of them started arguing. Dad was just sitting there, watching the two of them argue in Japanese, not understanding a thing that was being said. He comes upstairs to get me. He says: "_Al, your mom and grandma are arguing in Japanese. Come down and translate. It's starting to freak me out._" so I go down and sit with him. Eventually, since they were talking about Nadja and me, I get into it, speaking Japanese along with them." he laughs. "I can still hear dad in the background: "_Oh, holy hell, not Al now, too!_" I love dad." He settles down. "Anyway, Obaa-san tells mom that I'm growing up and that she's just going to have to deal with it. She told her that I was almost a grown man, and that that was bound to happen sooner or later. She told her that just because I am as small as I am, I couldn't stay her baby forever. Obaa-san went on to tell her how much it bothered her when she married my dad, but she got used to it and once I was born, all the frustration she felt towards my mom and dad being together sort of melted away; that she was happy to have a _magomusuko_-a grandson. Still, I hurried upstairs to tell Nadja to get dressed a bit more-she was just in a pair of shorts and a tank-top. I told her we had to get out of there unless she wanted my mom yelling at her in Japanese for an hour or so."

"What did you two do?"

"We just sort of puttered around town for a while, then I took Nadja home-she had to work at the record store that day, anyway, and I headed home."

"Was your mother still cross with you, sir?"

"No. Obaa-san calmed her down quite a bit...well, Obaa-san and a little sake." He shifts. "Mom was still a little different towards me after that, though. She started calling me "_Aloysius-kun_" a lot less." He sighs. "I think that because I'm a "_little person_" mom thought she could keep me a baby forever, but she couldn't. The realization that I was still going to grow up-maybe not all that much height-wise-bothered her. I think it changed something in her. I feel a little bad about it, to tell the truth."

"You shouldn't feel bad about it. You were only doing what was natural for you, especially as hormonal as teenage boys are. Your mother had the problem, not you. Though it was hard for her and probably not how she wanted to find out, it was still good for her that she saw that you weren't going to stay a child forever."


	9. O'Hare Session Nine

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Nine

"Ghosts"

"I'm gonna tell ya something, shrink, and you're gonna think I'm nuts, but I'm gonna say it anyway."

"Mr. O'Hare, I assure you, I won't think you're nuts. This is a safe place-no judgment."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He fidgets for a moment. "You believe in ghosts, Dr. Pennington?"

"I believe that there is simply too much mystery in the world to really discount anything."

"A long time ago, the first apartment Nadja and I got together-back when I was a janitor and she worked at her father's music store-was haunted as all hell. Terrifying shit."

"Tell me about it, Mr. O'Hare."

"Well, for some reason, the ghost hated the hell out of me. Nadja knew about the ghost before I did."

"How did she know before you if you say it hated you?"

"She said she could hear me talking to it in my sleep-could hear it talking back to me. Nadja was and still is a very light sleeper. It doesn't surprise me that she heard it and woke up." He lies back, his hands laced across his chest. "It went on like that for a month before she told me I was having half-asleep conversations with a fuckin' ghost."

"What kinds of things did you talk about with it?"

"I don't know. Nadja said that she could only hear it but not understand it very clearly, and that she couldn't understand much of my responses, but I sounded really apprehensive towards it-defensive, even." He turns his head to face the doctor. "Then, shit got a bit more serious. I started waking up with these handprints on my body. Nadja spotted them and pointed them out to me, that they couldn't be mine because they were too big to be my hands, and the digits were too short to be hers. They were mostly on my arms and legs, but a few on my body, too."

"Go on."

"Well, Nadja had started to notice little spots of blood on my side of the bed-tiny little specks. I didn't notice them until she pointed them out to me. Turns out, I had scratch marks all down my back. Nadja didn't do them-she never clawed my back when we'd fuck-afraid of hurting me. She was too gentle sometimes. Plus, the height difference. She'd have to _really_ want it to reach down all awkward and claw my back."

"Do you think perhaps you were scratching yourself in your sleep, Mr. O'Hare? That perhaps something was irritating your skin? Or perhaps bed-bugs?"

"The angle, though. There's no way it could have been me...plus, I used to gnaw my nails down to nubs. We also checked for bugs-not a bug one." he slips his shoes off. "Then, one night, as we were sleeping, it drags me out of bed by my leg. Nadja wakes up, she has her glasses on so quickly and hands me mine. She's all freaking out: "_Mein leibhaber! Are you okay?!_" she kept shouting, but I couldn't focus-kind of startled, you know? Trying to figure out how I got from the warm, soft bed to the cold, hard floor. By the time I get my head on straight, this big-ass bruise has shown up on my leg, in a perfect hand-print." Nadja took a picture. She always insisted on taking pictures of the ghosty marks on my body."

"Did anything happen after that, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Oh, hell yeah. That's when shit got real. Sometimes, I'd get home before Nadja-usually, she'd get home first and wait up for me, but this time, I got home first. I took a shower. I was a goddamned janitor-I had to wash the gross off myself. I was in there, right, washing up? Did my face, started on my hair and I notice that the curtain keeps getting pulled back. It was the magnetic kind-supposed to stick to the sides of the shower. I go to fix it, and something grabs me by the back of my head and drags me to the other end of the shower. It yanks me out, my face smacking against it hard enough to leave a bruise and just flings my ass around the damned bathroom. I'm screaming like fuck, wondering why the people in the next apartment aren't calling the motherfuckin' cops. It's hitting me, throwing me against walls. Scariest shit I've ever lived through. It's one thing to get your ass beat-I know all about that as you well know, but it's another when you can't see what's kicking your ass."

"What happened, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Nadja came home is what happened. It always stopped when she was home and awake. I just slumped to the floor, muttering-you know shit like: "_what the fuck was that?_"-shit like that. She runs up to me, I flinch, I remember. I was still pretty freaked the fuck out. She wrapped a towel around me, holding me and saying things in German to me. I couldn't understand most of what she was saying, but I was too freaked out to care, and it was in a soothing tone, so I calmed down. Once I calmed down, she went and got that camera again. She took pictures of the bruise on my face, the marks on my arms; all that shit. I was just yelling at her to call her father while I wash the shampoo and blood out of my hair and get dressed while we both pack and leave. I wasn't staying in there anymore."

"What happened after that?"

"We stayed with her dad for a couple of days-then found another apartment and hastily moved out of the fuckin' ghost-hole and into the new one." Dr. Pennington scribbles in his notes for a moment, and O'Hare sits up. "You don't believe me, do you, doc? Think I'm straight fuckin' crackers, don't you?"

"I didn't say that, Mr. O'Hare." Aloysius reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer and takes out a few old photographs.

"Here. Look at 'em." He hands them to the psychologist and the man takes them, looking them over. Several of them are hand-prints on his arms and legs, a few on his chest. There are long scratches on his back in many of the photos-always ten scratches in the alignment of a human hand-but as if done from behind. Another photo showed a much darker, deep violet, hand-shaped bruise on his right leg. The last set of photos were of the last day-the right side of his face badly bruised; the skin blue, violet, and red and his eye half-shut, blood-shot. Fist-shaped bruises dot his small form, and more bruises on his arms-this time having the appearance that something had grabbed and wrenched him by the arm.

"I don't know how to respond to these, Mr. O'Hare. It is obvious that you didn't do all this to yourself, and from the way you've spoken of Nadja, I do not think that she would have done this, either."

"You're damn straight it wasn't me or her. It was the ghost. Hell, could have been a demon for all I know." he shudders. "Still spooks me."


	10. O'Hare Session Number Ten

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Ten

"Nightmares and Digital Monsters"

The short, grey-clad business mogul slips into his therapist's office and sits on the couch. He looks like hasn't slept well.

"There's something I might like to talk about-it's probably nothing...but, I keep having nightmares about it."

"Oh?" Pennington looks over. "If you are having nightmares about it-about an event, then it is certainly worth talking about."

"You remember how I told you when I was 10 my dad, Mr. Yamaoka, and I went to a bunch of haikyo...well, we went to the spot where _Gulliver's Kingdom_ sat. It's near the_ Aokigahara_."

"What's that? The _Aokigahara_?"

"_The Suicide Forest_."

"Oh..."

"The guide didn't want to go in, but dad had to go in. He had to see the goddamned Suicide Forest...I saw it before he did..."

"What did you see, Mr. O'Hare?" Aloysius fidgets for a moment, a look of discomfort across his face.

"I don't know if I want to talk about this anymore..."

"Sir-"

"You know what I liked growing up?"

"Sir, please tell me what you saw." O'Hare ignores his therapist.

"Digimon. I fucking loved Digimon. I watched it in the original Japanese-used to watch it in 1999-2000 when I was at my obaa-san and ojii-san's house. Wanna know which one was my favorite?"

"Which one was your favorite, Mr. O'Hare, so we can get back to the matter at hand?"

"Shakkoumon. We'll talk about all that ol' bullshit later. Let's talk about Digimon, now. Something happy."

"Shakkoumon? Alright, Mr. O'Hare. We'll talk about Digimon. Which one was Shakkoumon?" O'Hare sits up.

"Shit man, what's the matter with you?" he shakes his head. "Before your time-Shakkoumon! From Adventure 02? The Jogress of Ankylomon and Angemon?" He fishes around in the inside pocket of his blazer. After a moment, he takes out a small plastic figurine of the Digital Monster in question. It is mostly white and gold with eyes thin-squinted. A cross sits atop its head. Angel's wings rest on its back. "This is Shakkoumon. Always confused me how an Angel and an Ankylosaurus made a Shakokidogu." He shrugs. "That's Digimon for you."

"Mr. O'Hare, why do you carry a plastic figurine of a fictional monster you loved as a child with you?"

"Shakkoumon's cool. Fuck you."

"I didn't say that he wasn't, Mr. O'Hare. I asked why you carry Shakkoumon with you. Do you feel like he is some sort of luck charm?"

"I don't know. I just like to have him here, in my pocket." The therapist looks at his patient.

'_A transitional. All that confidence, and he carries a plastic toy as a transitional...I guess we know where his self-confidence comes from._' "Mr. O'Hare, do you always have Shakkoumon?"

"Yeah. I've carried him around most of my life, actually. Always in a pocket. Everyone always thought that Paildramon was the coolest of the Jogress digimon, and I'll admit he is really cool, but I like Shakkoumon the best."

"Mr. O'Hare, why do you like Shakkoumon the best?"

"I dunno," he shrugs. "He just looks really cool to me." Dr. Pennington slips the end of his pen in his mouth, studying the plastic toy Mr. O'Hare has sat upon the dark-coloured coffee table.

_'He says the creature is a Shakokidogu, but it has Christian themes-the Cross, the Angel wings. Shakkoumon is him-at least on some level. Shakkoumon is his own feelings about being Japanese with a "white", Christian-especially Irish-Catholic for him-veneer._' Pennington thinks. Aloysius sits up, visibly excited.

"You know what would have been cool if they did but they never did?"

"What's that, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Had Omnimon and Imperialdramon Fighter-Mode Jogress! Yeah, I know that in either the movie or late in Adventure 02 Omnimon gave his power to Imperialdramon so he could go into Paladin Mode-but that's nowhere near as cool as a Jogress of the two of them."

"You'll have to forgive me, Sir, I never really got into Digimon. I don't really know what you're talking about."

"A Jogress is when two digimon combine into one much more powerful digimon. MetalGarurumon and WarGreymon Jogress into Omnimon-some say that isn't a real Jogress, but they can suck a cock. In Adventure 02, Koushiro says it was. In the manga, it is a Jogress, too. Anyway, Stingmon and XV-mon Jogress into Paildramon, Aquilamon and Tailmon Jogress into Silphymon, and Ankylomon and Angemon Jogress into Shakkoumon." His therapist looks confused. "Digimon was this series about these kids-ordinary kids that go into a world apart from our own, but made up of all our communications technology-the Digital World. They are partnered with Digimon-the creatures that live in that world. In Adventure 01-which I don't remember as well. I was still really young when it was still out in Japan, there were 8 kids: Taichi, Yamato, Sora, Koushiro, Jyou, Mimi, Takeru, and Hikari. Each of them had a Crest that represented their strongest quality. Taichi had Courage, Yamato had Friendship, Sora had Love, and Koushiro had Wisdom-though sometimes they called it Knowledge or Curiosity. Jyou had Sincerity-though they changed it to Reliability in the dub and Mimi got Sincerity. Mimi had Purity, Takeru had Hope, and Hikari had Light...Hikari is Japanese for light..."

"Go on, Mr. O'Hare..."

"They were each paired to a digimon, too, like I said. Taichi had Agumon, Yamato had Gabumon, Sora had Piyomon, Koushiro had Tentomon, Jyou had Gomamon, Mimi had Palmon, Takeru had Patamon, and Hikari had Tailmon. Each of them could evolve into stronger forms-the Crests allowing them to reach Perfect, though Agumon and Gabumon could also Warp-evolve into Ultimate level digimon, WarGreymon and MetalGarurumon."

"Was Perfect the strongest or...?"

"Nah, it went Baby I, Baby II, Child, Adult, Perfect, and Ultimate." he settles back, continuing his Digi-talk. "Anyway, these kids-seven at first, Hikari wasn't with them yet-are at this summer camp, and are taken into that other world. They fight plenty of evil digimon-ones that wanted to kill them. First, it was Devimon, then Etemon, then Vamdemon. Vamdemon is how they found out about the 8th Chosen Child. They had to go back to the real world and find the 8th kid before Vamdemon. Tailmon was one of Vamdemon's men, but turned out being the partner to the 8th child, Hikari-Taichi's little sister. Takeru and Yamato were brothers, too. They kill Vamdemon and he comes back as VenomVamdemon and about destroys the Tokyo Bay area. Agumon and Gabumon warp evolve for the first time, and the combined power of all the kids and their Crests destroys VenomVamdemon. They go back to the digital world and fight this group of Digimon called The Dark Masters-MetalSeadramon, Pinocchimon, Mugendramon, and Piemon. They defeat them, then they have the last battle, against a digimon called Apocalymon. Then, the kids defeat him and find that they have to leave the digital world and never see their partners again."

"What a sad way to end a children's show."

"Nah, it's alright. When Adventure 02 starts up-my favorite of the series, the kids are reunited with their partners and can come and go freely from the Digital World. Only Hikari and Takeru are part of the "main crew" in this season from the first. They are joined by three, and eventually one more, Chosen. A girl a little older than them named Miyako, a boy their age named Daisuke, and-this is what made me really love Adventure 02-a boy younger than them named Iori! Iori! My middle name! Hell, my _name_ in Japan-obaa-san and ojii-san only ever called me Iori-kun. These three new kids don't have crests, but inherit the power of the crests of some of the earlier kids through Digimentals and have partners of their own. Daisuke was partnered to V-mon and inherited Courage and Friendship. Miyako was partnered to Hawkmon-the first time a girl had ever been paired to a boy digimon-and inherited Love and Purity. Iori was partnered to Armadimon and inherited Knowledge and Sincerity. Hikari and Takeru kept Light and Hope. They fight against this evil Chosen Child-Ken who called himself the Digimon Kaiser. They defeated the Kaiser, and he joined with them. Turns out, he had a crest, too. The Crest of Kindness. His partner was Wormmon." he looks up at his therapist who was trying to conceal his boredom. "You know what I think?" Startled, Dr. Pennington looks up, his eyes wide.

"What's that, sir?"

"I think Vamdemon knew about Ken all along. As the season progressed, we find out that Ken was being controlled by this sort of digital seed-a "_Dark Spore_" that made him very intelligent and also evil. He was a son of a bitch as the Kaiser. They find these two other digimon, Arachnemon and Mummymon. The two of them can shape-shift between Digimon and Human forms and Arachnemon can make artificial Digimon out of all these obelisks Ken built around the Digital World. They find out that the two of them are trying to weaken the barrier between the real world and the digital world and try to stop them, but they go back to the real world before they can. The kids find out that Arachnemon and Mummymon were made by this guy, Yukio Oikawa, who saw the digital world back in the 70s or something-when he was a kid-and wanted to go. He implanted Ken with the spore so he would build those things, make all that shit to weaken the barriers. Then, the barrier is weak enough, and Oikawa takes a bunch of these kids he implanted with the spores he took from Ken into this other world. It wasn't the digital world-it was some sort of other dimension-like the Dark Ocean, which they really should have done more with-and who should appear there but motherfucking Vamdemon. Turns out, when the kids in the first one killed him as VenomVamdemon, he found Oikawa watching the kids return to the digital world and promised him that if he let him live inside him like a parasite, he would take him to the digital world. Vamdemon comes out of Oikawa, nearly killing him. He's in this really weird new form-BelialVamdemon. I don't know how the hell that thing is supposed to read as Belial or as a Vampire-looks like a space-ship to me...sort of...if you squint. Point is, BelialVamdemon doesn't look right. He kills Arachnemon and Mummymon for shits and giggles, then starts in on the kids. He creates this illusion-making them see what they truly want-Miyako has a lot of brothers and sisters, so she sees herself as an only child. Hikari wishes everyone had a partner digimon, so that's what she sees-everyone with a digimon partner of their own. Takeru wishes his and Yamato's parents weren't divorced-that his family is whole again, so that's what he sees. Iori's dad's dead, so he sees his father alive. Not only that, but Iori's father, Hiroki, was Oikawa's friend and also caught a glimpse of the digital world. Iori sees himself showing his father the digital world. Ken wants to be forgiven, but sees himself bound to one of his spires, beaten to death by the digimon he'd tormented as The Kaiser. The only one who didn't fall for the illusion was Daisuke...because he was too stupid for it. All he could think about was winning, so nothing else mattered to him. He pulls the other five out of their illusions, all of their digimon evolve into all of their forms at once."

"How did that work? What does that mean?"

"Like, instead of say, Patamon becoming only HolyAngemon and there being only one of him there, he'd appear as Pegasusmon, Angemon, HolyAngemon, and Shakkoumon. They beat the shit out of BelialVamdemon-knocking him into the Digital World, inadvertently. Then, they all combine powers, and all the partner digimon that belong to all the other kids in the world-all the other chosen, there are a lot-more than they ever imagined, break him down to his core-to where he is just this shadow. Then, the light from every digivice in the world is used to kill him completely. Oikawa is still alive, and Iori is trying to get him into the digital world, as it was all he ever wanted. He manages to get just in and meet his partner digimon-then dies. His body scatters into butterflies and heals the Digital World of the darkness that had swept over it. I think it is really nice that he turns into the butterflies-the theme song for the first season is called "Butterfly"...it's like it is from Oikawa-like it made the series come full-circle. I actually felt bad for him a lot as a kid."

"How does that prove to you that this _Vamdemon_ character knew about Ken?"

"Don't you see? Vamdemon knew about the ninth child! The Child of Kindness, but never went after him when he went to the real world! He only went after Hikari. He had other plans for Ken-used him as an "ace in the hole", a corrupted Chosen Child to gain entry into the digital world to tear it apart from the inside while he regained power inside Oikawa." The therapist sits up, determined to get his patient to stop his digi-ranting. He knew what O'Hare was doing-trying to run the hour out.

"I think we've talked enough about Digimon, Mr. O'Hare. I would really like to talk about the Aokigahara incident." He fidgets.

"Please? Do I have to? I...I don't want to...I was trying to run the hour out..."

"I knew you were. Mr. O'Hare, if you don't talk about the Aokigahara incident, the nightmares won't stop." He leans in a bit. "What did you see first?" O'Hare bites his lower lip, his fingers laced tightly. He eyes the door, thinking of running, but thinks better of it.

"I was just 10, okay?!" he shouts. "It was a dead body. A dead fucking body hanging from the fucking tree, okay!?"

"Calm down." He takes in large gulps of air, his eyes wide.

"God, it was still fresh...the eyes were bugged out...the face...God...Why the hell did dad take me in there!? It's called the fucking "_Suicide Forest_", not "_Super Happy Fun-Time Forest_". Son of a whore, he should have known better."

"When did your father or Mr. Yamaoka notice?"

"Dad noticed when I wasn't following him anymore. He turned around. He said that I was standing stalk-still, staring off into the trees, wide-eyed. He walked over to me, got down to my level and tried to see it. He still didn't see it. Mr. Yamaoka had to point it out to him, but the guide's English wasn't very good at all. _Corpse in tree. Son is looking at dead person in tree._ He pointed it out to him, and dad finally saw it."

"What happened then?"

"They had these people, right, that check up on the forest-call in the bodies, try to keep people from killing themselves. We called one of them in...they cut the person down and took them away to the morgue." He shudders. "It was a woman, about 30 and dressed in business attire. She wore these red shoes-one missing. They didn't go with her green suit-dress-thing at all...I started having nightmares not long after that..."

"Tell me about the nightmares, Mr. O'Hare."

"I'm always a boy again in the nightmares. I'm in the Aokigahara, but I'm alone. It's dark, and I am very afraid. I end up running through it and run into the body. She reaches down to me and strangles me...I always wake up there...sometimes, she doesn't reach down. Sometimes, vines coil around my neck like a noose and drag me up to her, hanging me."


	11. O'Hare Session Number Eleven

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session 11

"Child Geniuses and Jealousy"

"So, Sir, according to your file, you have an aunt named Deidre-your father and uncle's elder sister. Would you like to talk about her?" He shifts a bit.

"I never really knew Aunt Dee. I met her about twice in my life-the first when I was about nine. She, her husband Kjell and their twin kids Arnora and Askell come in from Norway and visit for about a week or so. Kjell, Arnora, and Askell don't fucking speak English, so Aunt Dee had to translate everything between English and Norwegian for them. Arnora and Askell knew a little English-and I _do_ mean a little. _Yes. No. Where is bathroom? Thank you._ That's it. What baffles me is they knew _Yes_ and _No_, but couldn't understand any question I'd ask 'em. It got to the point where I'd just like, go get a bag of chips or something, hold it up, point to them, point to it, and ask "_Want?_" and wait for yes or no. Apparently, they knew "_want_", too."

"What does your Aunt do for a living?"

"Eh, she's some sort of scientist, along with Kjell. Askell works with machines, and Arnora makes these really unsettling sculptures. She combines dead animals with machine parts. Seriously, look up "Arnora Folstad Sculptures". Shit freaks me out. The weird-ass clock-work Wendigo thing made out of most of a deer, some of a bear, a little bit of a wolf, and human teeth, especially."

"When was the other time you met her?"

"Not long after my company took off. I had money and had some spare time and decided, to hell with it, I'm going to Norway! Took Nadja with me. Apparently, Aunt Dee is really into thrash metal and plays the fuck out of drums, too." Dr. Pennington shuffles his papers.

"Wasn't there something else you wanted to talk about, sir?" He lies down, staring at the ceiling.

"It's nothing really." he says. "Nadja, sometimes, though."

"What about her, sir?"

"She's really jealous. Like, freakishly jealous. For instance, a couple years back, I hire this secretary. I didn't pay much attention to her, but Nadja was pissed off the second she saw her."

"Why would she be so upset about your secretary, Mr. O'Hare?"

"She was this blond girl who was apparently very pretty. Nadja thinks I hired her because of that and goes apeshit."

"Did she make you fire her?"

"Nah, Nadja took it a _lot_ further than that. Everyone at the company knows to never, ever come in my office from noon to two, Nadja's there with me-I think I don't have to explain what we're doing for two hours in there."

"Go on."

"She sends her this message as me, telling her to come in at exactly 1:50. She...eh...walks in on us, and Nadja just looks at her, smirking. I'm about...we'll I'm in no position to say anything intelligible at that point. I barely stammer for her to get out-the secretary, and Nadja shouts: "_NO! You vatch, Schlampe._" and kisses me...when we're _done_, I'm all red-faced and order her out, telling her she's fired. I was so pissed at Nadja, who just sat there, sneering as she put her dress back on." He shakes his head. "I'm a private man when it comes to certain parts of my life-and that's one of them. She purposely had my secretary walk in on us making love and had her watch us finish. After that, she just swaggers, for lack of a better word, out of my office."

"What Nadja doing was classic behavior. She was marking you as her mate to her potential rival. Nadja saw her as a threat, and wanted to prove to her that you are hers."

"Still, shit. That was far as fuck-and it didn't stop there. I found out later that she had Morty and McGuirk go with her and follow my former secretary out into the parking lot. She corners her and scares the hell out of her. They tell me she said, pretty much: "_Vorld Var One. Vorld Var Two. Do zees things mean anyzing to you? Ve German people are calm, relaxed, happy, even...but ven you piss us off, ve vill rain hell down upon you. Aloysius is mine. If I ever see you near him again, Blonde Schlampe, I vill rain zat old, infamous German hell down upon you-zat Deutsche Hölle. Do you have any IDEA what being the fiance to Aloysius O'Hare MEANS here in Thneedville? I could stab you to death in ze streets, and no one would do anything about it. I could kill you with complete impugnity. Ze hell zat I unleash on you, you vill crave death long before I grant it to you. You are not to even look at him again, Verstehen!? Do you understand me, you bitch-whore?_" Scares her to death and she gets as far away as she can-to the fucking opposite end of Thneedville."

"How did this make you feel, Mr. O'Hare? That Nadja did this?" He shrugs.

"I was mad at Nadja for...that, but also was a little happy that she was that jealous of the secretary. It made me feel attractive."

"You say you know where she is-your old secretary. Why is this?"

"I know where everyone is." he says, his voice flat.

"Sir, this is a ticklish question, but did you ever cheat on Nadja with that other woman?" He narrows his eyes.

"No. Why the hell would I do that? Nadja is all the woman I need or want."

"Sir, I just figured that because you have a great deal of power and money-"

"That I would cheat? Way to prejudge me, shrink. You all aren't supposed to do that." He crosses his arms.

"Don't you think that perhaps Nadja acted that way due to her insecurities over her deformities? That she sees all women as a potential threat?"

"She wasn't like this until my company took off."

"It's because you have money and power now. She is scared that you'll find someone better-looking than her and leave her, or at least cheat on her." He sits, looking at his patient, his fingers laced. "You should talk to Nadja, tell her how you feel."

"I have. I have told her time and time again that she's the only woman I want. That I love her and would never dream of being with anyone else. She doesn't believe me."

"Prove it to her, I suppose."

"How the hell do I do that? I make sure she is the best-dressed woman in Thneedville-everything designer, everything perfect, custom fitted to her."

"Perhaps that is not what she wants, sir. Perhaps she wants you to spend more time with her. Take time off and be together, just the two of you. I'm sure she'd like that." He gets up to leave.

"I guess I'll do that then."


	12. O'Hare Session Twelve

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session 12

"Cake Frosting and Medication"

"Did I ever tell you about how my dad used to take medication?" Al asks. Dr. Pennington looks up from his notes. The two of them had said little for quite some time, and Logan had begun to drift a bit.

"No, sir, I can't say that you have." The smaller man laughs.

"When I was in 6th grade, my mom had my dad see a shrink, and he got put on these pills. They made him loopy as fuck-all. Around this time, mom was usually busy with _Iro no Uta_ at night, so she'd have dad watch me. By then, he was stuck in the fucking sky nuts. He'd come home, holler at me, put on _Stone Temple Pilots_ or _Soundgarden_ or _Alice in Chains_ or something as loud as he could get it without the law being called, and just let me run wild. We'd listen to music and do whatever we wanted. My grades were shit that year. Did no homework, never studied, just chilled out with my dad and ate cake frosting. Looking back, eating cake frosting for dinner each night couldn't have been good for my braces, but damn, did I think my dad was awesome on those pills...you wanna know something else?"

"Sure, Mr. O'Hare."

"I still sneak and eat cake frosting. It's comfort food."

"Do you?" The patient blows and rolls his eyes.

"Damn. I probably shouldn't have said that. That "_do you_" shit means something in shrink-talk. I don't have a problem, before you even get on me about it. I just like the cake frosting. God, it's good."

"Do you hide cake frosting around your home, Mr. O'Hare?" Pouting, the smaller man replies, in a dopey mock-voice:

"Yes." He returns to his normal voice. "I also have some hidden in my office. Nadja knows and is really pissy about it for some reason, though I've been doing it for a long, long time. Hell, even when I was still a janitor, I had my stash of cake frosting."

"How did she find out about your cake frosting addiction?"

"It's a confection, not a damn drug. Don't even pull that shit, doc." He sits back. "Anyway, she found one of my cans of frosting while digging around for towels. We have so damned many towels I didn't think she'd find it. She comes into the living room with a towel wrapped around her and a can of chocolate frosting in her hand and I think "_ho damn_!" She asks me what it is. Cross that she caught me and was obviously pissed, I just tell her: "_you can read._" She doesn't like that answer very much and we get in a big row. I end up sleeping on the couch after she goes through the house taking all my damned cake frosting. How the hell did she find all my hiding spaces?"

"Well, sir, due to your height, there would be a finite amount of places around your home in which you could hide cake frosting. Nadja likely just went to each of those spots."

"Worst part is, she threw 'em all out. She was all upset, something about "sneak eating" and "gonna get diabetes", she was fussing in German. When I piss her off royally, she always bitches in German."

"Have you had your blood sugar checked recently?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I don't have diabetes. I don't chow down on that shit all the time, just when I'm stressed or get depressed. It makes me feel better. It's sweet and reminds me of easier times-when I was a kid."

"Do you have any frosting on you now?"

"Yeah, actually. A tube of pink. It's supposed to be strawberry, but it kind of just tastes like sugar." He shuffles around. "I'm done talking to you about the cake frosting. I don't have a problem."

"If you say so, sir. I can't help you if you won't let me, so I won't argue with you."

"Dad also used to dare me to do shit when he was on those pills. Nothing too crazy, I don't think, but still."

"What sort of stuff would he dare you to do?"

"'_Eat this cup of sugar, Al, and I'll give you ten dollars._', '_Drink this entire bottle of steak sauce and I'll give you fifteen._' Mostly eating stuff and drinking stuff. Once, he had me eat all the ice-cream I could-ice-cream eating contest...I ended up puking, but I won...probably because dad was lactose intolerant. We learned how hard it is to clean ice-cream-puke out of tatami that day."

"Do you remember what medication your father took?"

"No. I was 11. I don't fucking remember. I don't think they ever bothered to tell me what dad's "fun-time" medicine was even called. All I knew is it made him really fun, and he didn't have the nightmares anymore."


	13. O'Hare Session Number Thirteen

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Thirteen

"Butterfly"

He enters the room, wobbly, and sits on the grey upholstered couch, across from Dr. Pennington. The smaller man's breathing rattles; half-sobs.

"Mr. O'Hare?" The young therapist says, leaning in to his patient. "Sir, are you alright?" The two of them sit there for a while. "Sir, I know your mother is dead-I saw in the paper. Would you like to talk about it?" His face blotchy, Al looks up.

"I guess I have to, don't I?" he wipes his eyes on his sleeve. "She...she was really sick-do I have to talk about her death right now? _Really_?"

"Talk about what you want, sir." He eases back a bit, relief spreading over him.

"Thank God. Well, you remember me talking about my mother before, right? I didn't really care to talk about it then, but she was the front woman of this really popular JPop band back in the day: "_Iro no Uta_"-_colours of music_, essentially. Mom wore all green-even spray-dyed her hair for it, played a green guitar and called herself _Midori-chan_. The drummer wore all red, played a red drum-set and called herself _Akai-chan_-her name was Hoshiko Wanatanbe. The bassist wore all blue, played a blue bass and called herself _Aoi-chan_-her name was Noriko Masuda. Anyway, they were really popular in the Japanese part of town...and the Korean part of town-pretty much the entire Asian part of town. Apparently, my meat-head body-guard, McGuirk was a fan, too. Who knew he was a weeaboo. It pissed me off how he used to fawn over my mom like a wet-knickered school-girl over a rock-star once he found out that "OHMAHGAWD! YER MAWM'S MIDORI-CHAN!" Ugh."

"Tell me more about your mom's band."

"Well, as it got more popular, she had less time to be home-she was mom less and less and Midori-chan more and more. I stopped getting a bento and had to start eating school food which sucks like fuck when you're used to lovingly-prepared onigiri and green tea. Noriko and Hoshiko were always there, and always had their bratty kids with them: Hoshiko's daughter Yume and Noriko's twin sons Kenji and Takeshi. They never let me play with them because I am half-Irish. Being half-Japanese wasn't good enough for them."

"How did that make you feel, being left out for being part white instead of being left out for being part Asian?"

"It was a shocker, to say the least." he laughs.

"Did you like your mother's music, Mr. O'Hare?" He crosses his legs.

"Of course I did. I loved my mother very much."

"That doesn't answer my question, sir." Aloysius sighs.

"Yes. She was a skilled guitarist, an excellent singer, and a great song-writer. She wrote all the lyrics and Noriko wrote the melody-the music. Most people don't know that-they think Midori-chan did it all herself." He bites his lip for a moment. "There is one, though, that she wrote the music to, too. She wrote it long before forming _Iro no Uta_; before I was born, even. She used to sing it to me when I was little. Now that she's...gone...it makes me cry, as much of a candy-ass as that makes me."

"There is no shame in crying, Mr. O'Hare."

"She...she died of throat cancer. Never smoked a day in her life, but that's what got her. By the end, it struck her silent. A singer struck silent. I remember when she called Nadja and I to her and dad's house. She had these big poster-boards on the walls-notes to each of us written in Japanese. Her English handwriting was horrible, so she normally just wrote in Japanese. She played this song she wrote that morning-in the note saying that it would be the last sound she would be able to make. As she reached the end of it, I noticed her struggle against a cough, but she kept going; kept strumming that guitar of hers with blood at the corners of her mouth." he lies back and says, wistfully, "I often wish I would have recorded that last song." He sits up. "I think I'm ready to talk about the funeral, now."

"I remember from the paper that there were three events."

"Yeah, the public viewing, the invitation-only viewing, and the funeral." He lies back. "I tried to keep it casual, keep my cool for the public viewing. I didn't want to be this blubbering mess in front of everyone. I...I was very close to my mother. We laid her out in this pale green kimono. Green was her favorite colour, why she chose to call herself Midori-chan. The lining of her coffin was this pastel green silk and the casket itself was light coloured. For the invitation viewing, it was mostly just my family and mom's bandmates and her bandmates' families...and my dipshit bodyguard. He begged me to let him go to the private viewing and funeral. It disgusted me that he only wanted to go because he was a fan-boy of my mom's, but he told me that I could let him go in lieu of paying him a Christmas bonus and dock his pay for a month. Saves me money, and he must really want to go to let me do that. My Uncle Iori flew in from Shibuya and played a piano version of one of his songs. It got to me a little, but also kind of annoyed me. We know you're a rock-star in Japan, Uncle Iori. You don't have to remind us...even though the feel and lyrics did fit..."

"Perhaps that was your uncle's way of saying goodbye to his little sister, Mr. O'Hare?"

"I don't know, but at the end of it, the last fucking part of the song-it just gets to me and I lose it there at the funeral. I don't know what I would have done if Nadja wasn't there for me. He kept playing, this other song of his, in a different key-sort of making it a funeral song instead of what it normally is, and left the lyrics out while Nadja holds me and tries to calm me down. I think it was the words...well, what they translate to, that made me realize that she was really gone. Mom."

"I am sorry for your loss, sir."


	14. O'Hare Session Number Fourteen

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Fourteen

"A Visit with Dad"

"So, Nadja and I go and vist my dad yesterday." O'Hare says.

"Really, Mr. O'Hare? And how is your father?" He shakes his head.

"He's not doing very well. The house is a mess, he's not been eating very well or taking very good care of himself in general. He's taken mom's death really hard. I'm thinking about moving him into the mansion with Nadja and me."

"Tell me a bit more, sir."

"He's got this shrine up to her. Her urn, a photo of her, and an incense burner. It's part of Japanese culture. It surprised me. I always thought dad gave two shits about mom's culture." He leans back, "That's not the only thing we notice-Nadja noticed it first, naturally. The piano-the drawer thing that covers the keys, is up. I realized that I don't know much about my dad, and it made me feel like shit. I didn't know he played-hell, I didn't even know why that piano was always there when I was growing up."

"Did he ever play it when you were a boy?"

"No. He points this out-saying that he stopped playing not long after I was born and he took that position at that video game company. He tells me that he never played for me-like it just dawned on him, too. So, he started playing it."

"What did he play, Mr. O'Hare?"

"He starts off playing classical music-Shubert's "_Sonata in A Minor D.784_", Liszt's "_Liebestraum_". Then he starts playing the theme for that game-for the first one in the series. It impresses me-he plays a couple from the series. Then, he starts getting really blue: plays The Smashing Pumpkins "_Blank Page_" and "_For Martha_". Nadja asks him if he knows any happier songs. I really didn't expect that out of her, let me tell you. She's always so silent and tolerant."

"Perhaps she was worried about your father depressing himself further. Did he start playing anything cheerful?

"Yeah! He started playing The Beatles' "_Martha My Dear_", "_Lady Madonna_", and "_Good Day Sun Shine_". All sorts of stuff-The Zombies's "_Remember You_", Little Richard's "_Lucille_". I didn't know he could play piano. He's been my father all my life and I didn't know that, let alone that he could sing, too. He told Nadja and I that Grammy Eliora used to have him, my aunt, and my uncle perform together when they were little, with Uncle Al playing his guitar, Aunt Dee playing Drums, and dad playing piano. Blew my mind. I never knew that. Anyway, I tell him to go get cleaned up after he finishes playing Faith No More's "_Edge of the World_"-creepy song if you ever pay attention to the lyrics-and Nadja and I take him out to a _nice_ place-get him a good meal, and while we're doing that, I have people come in and do a little cleaning. I didn't want him living in that squalor."

"That was considerate of you, sir."

"Nadja and I have already talked about it. If he'll do it, he's welcome to move in with us...dad's strong-willed, though."


	15. O'Hare Session Number FIfteen

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Fifteen

"Don't Leave Me Now"

The small man enters the room, his steps shaky. He sits, uncomfortably, on the pale grey sofa across from his young therapist.

"Are you okay, Mr. O'Hare?" Dr. Pennington asks, tugging on the sleeve of his black button down. The rich man's face is blotchy; his eyes, puffy.

"She's gone..." he says.

"Who is gone, Mr. O'Hare?" He bites his lip and clenches his fists.

"Nadja...she left me..."

"Sir, I'm sorry."

"It's my fault. I-I should have been better to her. She kept telling me she would leave me, but I didn't believe her...God...Nadja..." he lies down on his side.

"She'll be back, sir."

"No, she won't. She planned to leave before I got home from work, but I came home early. She had cut off her hair-a four-foot pile of orange hair in my damned bathroom, left her fine clothes in favor of those purple things she would always wear, left the ring I bought her on the table and took the ratty one I bought her when I was a janitor. I begged her to stay-I beg no one, but I begged her to stay. She pushed me away, told me she couldn't do it anymore."

"What do you think Nadja meant by that, sir?"

"Living like this. She felt like I was trying to change her to fit my company-her clothes, her hair, the make-up; all in my company's colours. She felt like I wanted her to be "the pretty face of O'Hare Air". It wasn't that, I wanted her to feel beautiful."

"Oh? How so?"

"Nadja never felt like she was very pretty, you know? She had that bone disorder that made her arms really long-too long for her body and her hands were huge with long fingers and large feet. She always felt awkward and strange. Her ribs grew too long and too tightly together. It compressed her organs inside her, keeping her from being able to eat much. She felt like a freak. She was always beautiful to me, though." He sighs. "I should have seen this coming. Should have fuckin' seen this coming. I've not been spending time with her, and when I am home, I was still busy with work. I ignored her...she must think I don't love her anymore."

"I'm sure she doesn't-"

"Yes, she does. Don't caudle me, today, Pennington. I'm in no mood." He turns over, his back to his therapist. "The problems started not long after my company took off. At first, she loved it. Everything designer, all the money, all the power, all the people who treated us like shit having to bow to us like we were the fucking King and Queen...then she didn't. She started thinking that I thought I was too good for her how she was, so I was trying to improve her."

"How do you know she felt like that?" He reaches into his suit-jacket pocket and takes out a number of letters. He hands them to the therapist. He looks at them for a moment. "Mr. O'Hare, half of these are in German. The ones in your handwriting are in Japanese. I can't read these."

"We did that on purpose. Didn't want anyone finding out about our problems. Really? How many fuckers in Thneedville you think can read German _and_ Japanese-kanji, katakana, and hiragana?" He sighs. "I was never able to give her children. We tried for so long, doctor."

"Did the two of you ever see a fertility specialist?"

"Yeah. Turns out, it was both of us. My count is a flat zero. I'm goddamned sterile. Due to her internal compression, Nadja couldn't carry a child without it being crushed to death at around two months. So, she decides that we should adopt. No problem, right? I'm rich as fuck, so I could adopt any kid I want. Do I? Nope. Even then, I wouldn't give Nadja a baby. I really am a selfish fuck, aren't I?"

"Mr. O'Hare, we're all a little selfish sometimes." He sits up, frustration twisting his features.

"What did I tell you just a minute ago!? _Do. Not. Fucking. Caudle. Me. Today. God. Damn. It._"

"I'm sorry, Mr. O'Hare. It won't happen again."

"Good. Great. Grand." He settles down. "She always used to beg me to marry her. We were engaged long ago; hell, I was still a janitor. It took me almost a year to save up for that shitty shit ring I got her. Fake gold. _Plated_ fake gold and the shittiest, smallest diamond ever. It was the best I could do. It was shit, but she loved it. Never took it off. What do I do when I get rich?" he shakes his head. "Do we get married then? Nope. Instead, I get the engagement ring replaced. I thought she'd like it-solid, pure platinum, huge natural amethyst surrounded by perfect diamonds, all polished to a high shine. The first few bars of "_Fly Me to the Moon_" in sheet music, engraved on the outside and inside. I should have just married her. She asked me time and time again. I always told her-_just let me finish this quarter, baby, and we'll have the best wedding Thneedville has ever seen or will ever see. I'll make fucking _sure _of that._ But did I ever? Hell no." he sits up, pointing at the pile of letters. "That last German one, the one with the smeared letters-says that she never wanted a nice wedding-she just wanted to marry me. She just wanted me, and all I wanted was power, wealth, and admiration. She said in the letter that she loves me, but doesn't love who I have become..." he rolls over. "She said that if our past together meant anything to me now, I'd know where to find her."

"And do you, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Hell yeah! That's easy. She's at her dad's music store. I don't need my cameras all around town to know that."

"Cameras, sir?"

"Forget I said that."

"Then go get her. You know where she is. You still love her. Go get her. Profess your love to her, set a damned wedding date, and make an effort to change for her." He sits up.

"Don't you get it, asshole? I'm not good enough for her anymore. The money didn't corrupt her, but it corrupted me. I'm too far gone to go back. She's still Nadja, but I'm not Aloysius anymore. I'm _O'Hare_. She's still so pure, so innocent, forgiving, kind, and gentle. Skittish as hell, too. I liked that about her." The doctor can see the faintest hint of a flush cross the CEO's face. "She is like a spring rain; gentle, soothing. She is the light, and I am the darkness. The light can't stay in the dark too long or it will be snuffed out."

"Sir?"

"I'm being poetic, let me do it." he snaps.

"Alright."

"I need her to lead me home, to take me back, to make me who I was, but I don't deserve it." he says, sighing.

"Sir, it sounds like you really want to be with her, still. Your company has made so much money. Can't you hire someone to look after it for you? Take what you need and the two of you start over?"

"I can't do that. My greed won't let me. You know that. You know I'm a greedy little bastard-hell I wouldn't sell goddamned _air_ to people if I wasn't a greedy little shit. You even notice that the air here is actually fine? Stupid fucks don't. Stupid fucks pay my bills. All of them. Every last one of them in Thneedville is a stupid fuck."

"Why are they stupid fucks, sir?"

"They can't open their eyes and look around them! They don't _need_ to buy my air anymore, but they do. It's fucking nuts. I hate them all so much...except my family and Nadja. Everyone else can die in a fire for all I care." The doctor says nothing, but quietly writes. "So that's pretty much it. As long as O'Hare Air stays in business, I won't be able to allow myself to even attempt to get Nadja back. The money has too much of a hold over me."

"And if your company never goes out of business-at least in your life-time?"

"Then I suppose I'll never get her back." he says, trying his best to hide the pain in his voice at the prospect of pining over her for the rest of his life. He looks over at his therapist, tears on his face. "But I swear to God, the second my company falls, I'll go to her. There will be nothing to stop me."

"What if she finds someone else, sir?"

"The fuck? I thought you people were supposed to make your clients feel better."

"It's just a possibility."

"Then I don't know what I'll do." He looks at the clock. "Oh look! An hour's passed!" he gets up and leaves, wiping his eyes with his sleeves.


	16. O'Hare Session Number Sixteen

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Sixteen

"Death of a Stoner"

"Mr. O'Hare, I understand that you had to change the date of our last appointment due to a funeral for someone very special to you. Would you like to talk about it?" O'Hare sits across from him, his eyes tired, bloodshot. He's tilted forward slightly with his head in his hands. "Sir, you seem very tense. Is something wrong?" Al still doesn't respond. "We can have this another day if you don't want to talk right now. I understand-"

"It was me, okay!?" He shouts. "It's my fault she's dead..."

"I doubt that, Mr. O'Hare. How is it your fault that Genevive passed away? You told me in previous sessions that she was always very sick and that she wouldn't live very long."

"42 years old. Genevive was 42 years old." he says. He shakes his head. "I hadn't come to see her since my company took off-I should have visited her more often. She probably thought I hated her."

"I doubt that, sir. Your cousin knew you loved her, and she also knew you are a very busy man."

"I get the call, you know, from Uncle Al at about three in the morning. He tells me that Genevive had to be rushed to the hospital. I get there, Aunt Nanette, Uncle Al, Cousin Cael; everyone is there. The whole family."

"How is your cousin Cael? You said he was sick, too."

"He didn't look so good, but he never had it as bad as Genevive. He's paler than I remember. Gaunt, too." He sits back. "I go into her hospital room and she's lying on the bed. God, doc, she..." he takes a deep breath. "She looked dead already. She was nothing but skin and bones-really. She looked like a skeleton, her face all sunken in, all the bones in her arms, hands; all that fully visible. Her hair was all stringy-not like I remember her at all. Sure, she was always too damned skinny, but not like that, and her hair was always thick and wavy. She's hooked up to all these machines and I go up to her."

"Did she say anything, Mr. O'Hare?"

"She just lies there-for a while I thought she was in another coma, so I just talk to her. I...I tell her that I'm sorry that I haven't been around much the past few years, that we've not talked much. I hold on to her for a while and I get up to leave, and she grabs me. I about piss my pants and turn around to see that she's got me by the arm with her boney hand. Her grip is so weak, but I can't make myself push her away. Her eyes…the sockets were dark, bruised. It made it look like her eyes were just these little pin-lights in the back of empty sockets. She really looked terrifying. It's why it had to be closed-casket."

"Did she say anything to you then?"

"She tells me that she knows she is going to crash soon-that she can feel it. She says that the doctors will just revive her again, and she can't stand that happening again. She pulls me closer to her-more I walk over to her as she's become so weak and she holds me, crying on me. She says: "_If you love me, little cuz, you'll let me die. Please let me die...please..._" She begs me to pay the doctors off; to let her die...I tell her I can't, that I can't let her die. She begs me-_begs me_ to let her die. She crashes-that awful sound-the flat-line screech. The doctors rush in and I just freak out, I snap at them to stop-telling them I'll pay whatever they like to just let her go."

"Did they do it, Mr. O'Hare? Did they accept your money and let your cousin pass?"

"Yes...I paid out about 1 mil that day...but they let her die and kept their mouths shut...you'll keep yours shut, too, right? Doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

"I know you feel like it's your fault, but your cousin wanted to die. Genevive had suffered all this time-for forty-two years. She just wanted out. You said she was sick for a very, very long time. I think you granted her mercy, Mr. O'Hare." Dr. Pennington sits for a moment. "When did you first notice that Genevive was sick, Mr. O'Hare?"

"I was still very little. I knew something was wrong with her-she was always in the hospital and never went to school like most kids. Uncle Al and Aunt Nanette put her in Home School. The first time it really sank in to me that she was sick was when I was six. She was 14 at the time, and we were going to hang out in her room and listen to Nirvana and play videogames. She had this table-this night-stand, I guess, that had three tiers and the second tier was nothing but pill bottles and these two leather pouches...and a gameboy."

"Did you recognize any of the medicine? Did you ever ask what it was? Did you ever see her take any of her medication?"

"Three questions in one. New record for you, doc." O'Hare sighs. "I recognized Vicodin, Valium, Zoloft, Naproxen, this other one, I know the name, but it's not very well known. It was made specifically for her condition, but she said it didn't work for shit. The pouches, I found out what was in them when Aunt Nanette came in and made her take her medications. There were needles and vials in those pouches. The first one held Iron. She couldn't produce iron on her own, and couldn't absorb it normally, so she had to inject it directly. The other was Vitamin B-12. She couldn't accept it in pill-form-it made her puke. She didn't care to let me watch her take her medicine, in fact, she was really enthusiastic about it-like she was showing me something cool. She always took them in her left arm-the iron through her veins, the B-12 in her arm-intramuscular, I think it's called, but she'd inject it into her shoulder. When I asked what each one was for, she pointed to each of them: to the Vicodin: "pain", Valium: "anxiety", Zoloft: "depression", Naproxen: "Arthritis", the other pills: "dipshit disease"-she always called what she had "dipshit disease"-I never learned what it was called. She'd tap, lightly, on the leather cases and say "deficiency" for both of them."

"Why did she call it "dipshit disease"?"

"It was the main source of her problems. It caused her pain. Made her tired, but unable to sleep. It destroyed her immune system. It kept her from eating. It made it where no one could touch her. I learned that when I was five and she was thirteen. I hugged her, without thinking, and she starts shrieking like I had just caught her on fire or something. I thought I had done something wrong. Uncle Al told me that it hurts when people touch her, that no one could hug her-that it was like being stabbed for her. I felt so bad after that, the way she just laid there, sobbing on her side, Aunt Nanette trying to make her take her pain medication. I can't imagine what it must have been like to live like that." He lies back, trying to conceal the sorrow on his face.

"Would you like to talk about the funeral, Mr. O'Hare?" The smaller man sighs.

"It was nice. She was in this dark coloured casket. I saw her at the viewing-the morticians cleaned her up well. She still looked like a skeleton, but she wasn't so unsettling to look at. The inside was black satin with the words "_All in all is all we are..._" stitched into the top part in gold. It's from "_All Apologies_". She loved Nirvana. As you know, Nadja had left me at this point...I felt so alone. I brought Morty and McGuirk with me, just to have someone with me. Cousin Cael sings _All Apologies_ a capella and Uncle Al gets up and plays "_Come As You Are_", but re-arranged to be a dirge and I just lose it. I start bawling. "_As an old memory...memory...memory..._" It's all she was to me. Just an old memory." he struggles against tears. "I didn't even know she was a Kindergarten teacher until the eulogy, for fuck's sake. What the hell kind of "favorite cousin" was I?"

"Mr. O'Hare, we all get busy with our own lives. I'm sure she knew you cared about her."

"I loved her so much when I was a kid. She was so cool. Always wore these hoodies, baggy pants, and skateboarder's shoes. She didn't skate, but she said she "did like feeling like she was walking on clouds". We'd sit in her room and listen to Nirvana and all sorts of stuff, but Nirvana was her favorite-like I said. She still cried over Kurt Cobain, decades after he died. She did the same with John Lennon. She used to call my dad "Uncle John" sometimes."

"Why did she do that?"

"White guy, round glasses, married to a Japanese woman. John and Yoko."

"Ah."

"That, and she also loved The Grateful Dead, so "_Uncle John's Band_" could have had something to do with it on some level I don't get." He sighs. "She was like a big sister to me. She was so passionate. She tried to act tough and cool, but she was so tender-hearted. So many songs would make her cry-"_All Apologies_", Live's "_Lightning Crashes_", Pearl Jam's "_Black_" and "_Alive_", Elton John's "_Captain Fantastic_", Jim Croce's "_Operator_", John Lennon's "_Grow Old with Me_" and "_Imagine_", and the song that makes everyone in the entire fucking world cry, Terry Jacks' "_Seasons in the Sun_"."

"Did you cousin have a husband or any children?" O'Hare sighs, visibly annoyed at having to answer this question.

"Yeah, she married one of my dipshit employees, Melvin Cromwell. Tall, lanky, goofy fucker. Glasses, brown hair, always wears a green blazer. They were married for four years. They have two kids together: a son and a daughter, with the boy being older. This year, he'll be three years old, and the girl will be one-she's still an infant. The boy's name is Krist and the girl's name is Zam. Named him after Krist Novoselic-you know, used to be the bassist for Nirvana? Named Zam after Zam Wesell from _Star Wars_." He sighs. "I feel so sad for them...they were too young to remember her. They had the coolest mom ever, and they won't remember her."

"What about Melvin, sir?"

"What about him?"

"He was your cousin's husband for four years. Don't you think he may miss her, too? That perhaps he's struggling with her being gone; with being a widower and a single-father?"

"I suppose. I never really liked the fact that that stupid asshole married my cousin. I tolerated it a lot more when Krist and Zam were born. He's pretty cool himself, for a little kid. Loves Pantera. I've never seen a damn two year old that loves Pantera. Uncle Al says he reminds him of Genevive when she was his age, except with her it was Metallica and Black Sabbath. Zam looks so much like Genevive when she was a baby; same dark red hair. She has stupid's brown eyes, though."

"Do you think any of her former students were at the funeral?"

"Maybe," he shrugs, "A lot of the time, people end up going to funerals of my family members just because they're _my_ family. I wish they wouldn't, sometimes." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "She was a good person and I still admire her quite a bit...I...I miss her and I wish I could have been there for her more towards the end." Dr. Pennington sits his pen down.

"Mr. O'Hare, it sounds to me like you have a lot you'd like to say to your cousin. I'd like you to write a letter to her."

"What am I supposed to do with it? She's dead. She can't read the damned thing."

"Burn it, keep it, whatever. Just write it out. It'll make you feel better."

"I think I'll do that." He stands up to leave. "Thanks, Doctor Pennington. I know I don't say it, but thanks. Talking to you really helps me out."


	17. O'Hare Session Number Seventeen

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Seventeen

"A Visit with Uncle Al"

"Since Genevive died, I've been visiting Uncle Al a lot." Mr. O'Hare says, a hint of timidity in his voice. Dr. Pennington looks over at his diminutive patient.

"Oh? How is he doing?" Aloysius shakes his head, sighing.

"Not well, doctor. Cael...Cael's acting weird. I can't figure him out right now. He's spaced himself off with his wife and kids-pity, Rita is a lot like Genevive." He looks over at his doctor. "She sang at Genevive's funeral, you know? Sang "_Something in the Way_"-sounded so much like Genevive I almost lost it right there, and Cael hadn't even sang "_All Apologies_" yet. It was like hearing her. Cool part was, at the part at the end where "_All in all is all we are_" is repeated like a hundred times, we all sing it with him. Thank God Rita and Rocky didn't inherit what Cael and Genevive have."

"...Mr. O'Hare, you said your cousin Cael was really into The Beatles."

"Yup. I noticed it, too. "_Lovely Rita_" and "_Rocky Raccoon_"...anyway, he was always closer to Aunt Nanette anyway. Cael was a Mama's Boy and Genevive was a Daddy's Girl. I think that's why Uncle Al's taking it so much harder than Aunt Nanette. She floats around like nothing fucking happened, and Uncle Al...I really worry. A long time ago, when I was still a baby, Uncle Al had a very, very bad drug problem. Before I was born, he had money-owned a very successful masonry business. Then, he got on cocaine. By the time I was born, they were living in their car. He became known as the town junkie, the "honor" formerly belonging to my dear, sweet Grammy. Doing shit side jobs for just enough to buy his next needle-full-he shot it up. Boiled it down and shot it up. Genevive only got taken care of due to charities. Even when they did get a home, Uncle Al didn't stop. He was on drugs really, really badly until I was about 4. He converts to Protestantism-which about makes Grandfather fucking explode-and gives up all the drugs, devotes himself to the church and all that nonsense...for a year. Then he gets right back-but this time on pills, in addition to all the weed all four of 'em smoked on a daily fucking basis-as long as they had money. Sneak off and get drunk, too. Aunt Nanette really hated drinking for some damned reason. Genevive...she never told on him, no matter what she'd see him take and how fucked up it would get him; eventually joining him in all the "family-bonding-drug-time". Cael told on them any chance he got, so they started sneaking around Cael and Aunt Nanette."

"You really do seem to have a drug problem in your paternal family, Mr. O'Hare. Your Grammy's heroine addiction, your Uncle Al's cocaine, pills, and marijuana addiction, and your Cousin Genevive, Cousin Cael, and Aunt Nanette's marijuana addiction."

"What are you trying to say, dick-cheese?" The young therapist shifts, uncomfortably. He knew damn well what Mr. O'Hare could do if someone pissed him off just right.

"I meant no offence, sir. I am just wondering...have you ever had the urge to do anything? You have so much money and power, and with drug abuse being prominent in your family, you have a high chance of developing a drug problem."

"I did when I was younger, sure." he shrugs. "Who doesn't? I was a teenager; I did what teenagers do. I was curious from seeing it all my life, so when I was about 13, Genevive offers to split a joint with me. I take her up on her offer, and I smoked weed on occasion through most of my teen years. I never got like them, though. Just a joint a couple times a year, and I'm fine. I've never had much inkling to try any real drugs." He settles back down a bit. "Anyway, I worry with Genevive being gone that he'll...he'll end up killing himself. He'll either OD on the pills he gets or get back into coke...I knew it would hit him hard. I knew it would fuck him up. He and Genevive, like I said, were so close. The way he screamed when he saw her dead...It took three orderlies to hold him back. Screeching her name. He wriggled free and ran over to her-he is a skinny fucker-wiry. Throws himself on the side of the bed, screaming and crying, begging her to wake up, then just sort of dissolved into "no" over and over again. I'm worried he's going to end up in a mental institution or end up killing himself or getting back on drugs really bad. It's why I visit him a lot. Dad comes with me, sometimes. I leave Morty and McGuirk behind. I don't want them for personal shit. They're business. It's why I don't bring them with me for our little talks each week."

"And what of your father, Mr. O'Hare? How is Murray doing?"

"He was doing a lot better before Genevive passed and Uncle Al went bat-shit. He's grieving, but he's doing better than I thought he would; mom and Genevive both dying so close together." He squirms around, wiggling into half-sitting, half-lying position. "I will tell you, there was once where I remember feeling really uncomfortable around Genevive. She was 14, I was 6. She shows up at our door at around 8:30 at night and Dad lets her in. Mom offers her some left-over pizza we had had that night for supper and Genevive eats it, sitting at our kitchen table, black slippers on her feet and her dirty shoes sitting in the cubby by the door. She says: "Hate to bust in on you guys like this, but Ma and Daddy are really having it out right now. Cael's run off, don't know where he is, so I figured I'd come chill with you guys until it cools down over there." Dad asks her what happened. She says: "Daddy spent, like, $60 on 'tabs and Ma found out and flipped out. Would have been fine if Cael didn't tattle. They are going ape-shit over there-sorry, Aunt Yukiko, I know; the whole swearing thing. I just want to chill out here until they come off it." I notice that mom's put the damned pizza in the microwave too long and part of the toppings are burned and I see Genevive gnaw on part of the crust, eating like hell. Dad asks her if she'd been eating, and she said: "Yeah. Like, not every day, but I've been eating. It's cool." Turns out, Uncle Al had been wasting money on drugs instead of buying food and Genevive was just eating whatever whenever from people-like, stealing left-overs from the tables at cafes and shit. We let Genevive stay the night, and in the morning, she went back home. Dad had a talk with him after that. After the talk, there was always food and Genevive didn't show up, half-starved at our house at night any more. I love my Uncle Al. Don't think that I don't for a second, but he wasn't a very good father a lot of the time. Very impulsive, very short-sighted. When Genevive was 17, they lived, pretty much, in a hovel. One-only one really-bedroom, the "_semi-converted front porch_" which was just a bunch of plywood around and a roof put over it, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a massive hole under the floor that led to a six foot deep pool of dirty, black water. Uncle Al and Aunt Nanette took the bedroom, Cael slept in the living room, his bed stuffed behind the couch, and Genevive slept on the porch. They fought all the time there-constantly. They took all visitors outside because the house was a dump-should have been condemned. Genevive almost fell through the bathroom floor, and she weighed maybe 90 pounds soaking wet. She caught herself before she fell in the pool, though, and Cousin Cael and Uncle Al helped pull her out of the damned floor. Her legs got cut up pretty bad from that."


	18. O'Hare Session Number Eighteen

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Eighteen

"Sleepwalking and Big Dreams"

The small man enters the room, this weekly meeting so routine that the two of them no longer greet one another. Dr. Pennington has an old newspaper.

"So...we've talked a little bit about your Aunt Dee, haven't we, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Yeah. We have." he says, flatly.

"Anything you'd like to say about her? Anything special? Anything that set her apart?"

"What are you getting at?" he asks, cocking his right brow. Dr. Pennington smirks and sets the aged newspaper on the coffee table between them. The front page reads: "_Local Girl, Deidre O'Hare, 7, found to have an IQ of 187_". "Oh...you're getting at _that_. Yes, I knew about it. Deidre was a child genius. She started college at 8 years old and had her first doctorate at 16. She works in Norway as some sort of bio-engineer, making straight-up _Resident Evil_ shit." He laces his fingers and smirks. "So, doc, since you like sneaking around and finding things out about my family, I'll tell you something you won't find in any paper."

"And what is that, sir?" The businessman-turned-hero-mayor leans back.

"You're a shrink, I'm sure you damn well know what somnambulism is, right?"

"Yes, sir. Sleep-walking."

"You'll also recall my father being plagued by nightmares. Well, he used to keep himself up for days at a time, and he would often go into a somnambulistic state. My uncle Al told me all about it when I was younger. It started off so innocuous, he'd just wander downstairs and leave pancake batter around, take ice-cream out of the fridge and set it in the garage-things like that. Then, when he was about 12, my Uncle Al walks in on him-in the middle of the day, in one of those states. He was sitting in the floor of their bedroom driving sewing pins into his left hand. Just sticking them on in. Uncle Al freaks the fuck out and runs up to him shouting "_Murray! Murray! What the fuck are you doing? God damn! Your hand, Jesus Christ, Murray!_" Dad wakes up and starts screaming, Uncle Al cupping his mouth. They knew Grammy would have given two fucks and probably just have laughed and Grandfather would have thought Dad had some demon in him and called a Priest. Luckily, Aunt Dee was home, in her room, typing up some thesis or some shit, so Uncle Al takes dad in there, hoping Aunt Dee will help. She sees his hand, and she's like "_Jesus Christ on a cracker, what the fuck have you two chuckle-nuts been doing now? Some sort of retarded new game? "Let's turn our hands into motherfucking pin-cushions"? God, you're both so stupid._" And they tell her that he did that while he was sleep walking, so she takes the pins out, and takes care of the wounds. Things are alright for a while until, in the dead of the fucking night, dad gets up out of bed, goes down to the kitchen and gets a shit load of kitchen knives and starts driving them into Dee's bedroom door deep enough to stand on their own. Everyone wakes up at that point and aren't sure what the fuck to do. He had, like, one of those kitchen knife-blocks with him, jabbing all the knives, one by one, into the door. Dee inside screaming like fuck, Uncle Al telling everyone to stay back and for Dee to hide, Grandfather muttering about demons, and Grammy just sort of standing there. He ran out of knives, and just sort of fell to the ground. Grandfather picked him up and moved him into his and Uncle Al's room and Uncle Al ran in to check on Aunt Dee and calm her down. Dad was 15. That was the last time that that happened, but Aunt Dee transferred to a University in Norway that next semester. Freaked her shit right out."

"Strange that it would just stop like that. Did your father ever have any sort of psychiatric help? Any sort of scan? MRI, CT; any of those?"

"Nah. Funny thing is, he isn't the only one in the family who did that. Genevive did, too. From the time she was 8 to the day she died, she was an insomniac. She would stay awake for a day, day and a half, then fall asleep for about four hours, wake back up for a day or so, then fall back to sleep for about four or five hours and just keep doing that. When she was in her early 20's, she did something sort of like what dad used to do. Like, sometimes she'd be awake for around three days straight, then sleep for about 10 hours and go back to "normal". When I was 15 and she was 23, she was awake for five fucking days. Five days with no sleep. I came over to visit and Uncle Al stops me at the door and tells me what I just told you about my dad and said that right now-at that time-Genevive was sitting in her room with the exact same expression on her face dad would get when he was in one of those states. He said he hadn't been able to get her to eat for two days, and they hadn't been able to get her to drink all day. She just sat and stared off into space. Awake, but not. I go into her room and start talking to her, trying to get through-get a reaction. She just stands up, walks past me and out her bedroom door. Down the hall, into the dining room, into the living-room past Uncle Al, and out the front door. Uncle Al and I chase her; she's at a dead run, now. She runs to this park near their house and stands still for a moment or two, then drops to the ground, out cold. Uncle Al picks her up and carries her back to their house, puts her in her bed, and says he's going to keep watch over her for the next few weeks and that it would be best if I don't come back for a while. Freaked me out."

"Did Genevive ever do that again?"

"No. She was still an insomniac, like I said, but she didn't do that ever again." Pennington chews the end of his pen.

"Mr. O'Hare, did your father keep a dream-journal, or did he just draw what he saw in his dreams?"

"He still does keep a journal. Never lets anyone read it, but I see him scribbling in it every morning, still-just like when I was a kid."

"I would like it very much if you could obtain one of his dream journals for me, Mr. O'Hare. I promise, nothing will happen to it. I'd like to read it."

"Why?"

"The nature of the things your father would do in the somnambulistic states was quite violent, and the monsters he designed are creatures of true horror-directly from the subconscious. I would very much like to read his dreams."

"I'll see what I can do." he shrugs.


	19. O'Hare Session Number Nineteen

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Nineteen

"Mr. Popularity"

"You know why I like being so beloved, so well-known in town, Dr. Pennington? Of course you do. You're a shrink. I'm gonna say it, though. Napoleon Complex-for one, but that's not what I was going to say. It's because I was nobody in school. No one aside from three people really noticed me. My sweet, beloved Nadja. Ass-hat Dick-face Charles. And this other girl, Helen Cohen-you know, the girl that helped me in 4th grade? Married Charles, has a kid with him and all that? The only reason Helen was ever around me at all-and probably the only reason she gave enough of a shit about me to help me-was because her mom worked with my dad.

They were both Art Department: Norma Cohen and my dad. She designed characters, dad designed monsters. They worked together a lot. You know, in the game, a lot of the monsters represent something personal to the protagonist of the game. They would work together to design complementary characters and monsters. Like, one guy was really suppressed sexually-really sexually frustrated-so some of his monsters had sexual undertones, like this thing that just looks like a bunch of skin under a sheet in the shape of human body, the bound monsters, and the highly feminine creature that was made up of two lower-halves of women-like, the top half was a bottom half. And she'd draw the characters-like a smarmy, faithless priest, a perverse doctor, a delusional man-child, a serial killer-all sorts of characters. She also sang the songs for the games, from the third game on. Since her daughter, Helen, was the same age as me, they thought to make us friends.

Helen was nice to me out of pity. I do remember, though, that Helen was the first person to, um...let me rephrase that. The first time I was made to feel uncomfortable about a family member of mine having a fan. The company dad and Mrs. Cohen worked at had a picnic, and they got Uncle Al and my cousins to play. I don't know if Uncle Al either was stoned or didn't give a fuck, but he starts playing Led Zeppelin's "_Lemon Song_" at the goddamned picnic. The fucking company picnic. I notice Helen watching my uncle-Mrs. Cohen brought her, and feeling really uncomfortable about the way she was looking at my uncle while he played that." he squirms around into a more comfortable position. "Then there was Naiko-she noticed me, too, but she was only in Japan and moved away when I was 11...and she was kind of a shitty friend to me a lot."

"How was Naiko a shitty friend to you, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Sickest I've ever been-July 6, 2007. I was about to turn 10. It was summer, so I was in Nagano...in the Nagano summer heat...with a fucking fever of 102-about 39 Celsius. Naiko shows up at my obaa-san and ojii-san's house with this bag over her shoulder. I can hear her from my room: "_Is Iori home?_", my ojii-san telling her "_Iori-kun is very sick today, Naiko-chan. He has a fever of 39 degrees and can't keep anything down. He's too sick to play today._" Then, I hear Naiko respond in the sweetest voice: "_Oh, I'm very sorry, Takanawa-san. Please let Iori know that I hope for his swift recovery, and I am sorry to bother you._" and she leaves. Then, I hear tapping on my bedroom window a bit later. It's her. I put on my glasses and take the cool, damp cloth off my head and go let her in for some damned reason. I was sick, I didn't know what I was doing, I guess. Fuck. She whispers to me that we're going ghost hunting-she's found the perfect spot. I tell her that I'm too sick and lie back down. She crawls over to my bed, still whispering; right above me with those damned braids from her cat-hat hitting me in the face. She always used to pull on them when she was frustrated. She used to pin me down like that and let the fucking braids get me in the face when I wouldn't give her what she wanted. Looking back, she was super fucking bossy. Anyway, she says to me that she managed to steal her dad's EVP equipment and his cameras and had a "sure thing" from one of his maps. She asks me if I have any idea how hard it is to steal her dad's ghost stuff. I end up getting dressed and going with her, sick as hell. We get to the train station, going to ride to this other town-I forget which-and I just collapse. I ended up in the hospital. That was fun to have to pay off, but ojii-san still had a lot of his old boxing-days money left. My folks and grand folks are _PISSED_ at Naiko: "_You could have gotten him killed_!" Her folks and brother are pissed at her. We sort of snuck and were friends after that." He looks over the side of the couch, his arms resting on a cushion. "You wanna know something? Nadja met Naiko once-while we were in Japan for the last time-when I was 16 and my Ojii-san died. I took Nadja to Odaiba-mom and dad took me to Odaiba when I was five. Naiko was there. Nadja and I are walking along the pier, looking back at Rainbow Bridge, and I hear someone behind me say "Oharu Iori?" I turn around, and it's Naiko! She's still wearing that cat-hat, even at 16. Still wearing mix-matched sneakers and dress-and-pants. I smile and call out "Yamaoka Naiko?" She hugs me and we talk, I introduce Nadja so quick it was like my life fucking depended on it. Like, I should have known what would have come of that secretary as soon as Nadja saw her. I could see Nadja's hands tightening into fists out of the corner of my eye when Naiko hugged me. Would get pissy when Helen Cohen would say "hi" to me in the hall, all that. Nadja is a very jealous woman."

"Mr. O'Hare, if Naiko was so bossy towards you that she would torment you to get what she wanted-to bully what she wanted out of you, essentially, why were the two of you friends?" He blushes for a moment.

"Okay, you can't _ever_ tell Nadja, but Naiko was sort of...my girlfriend when I was little. Not like real boyfriend and girlfriend, but you know-to the capacity that a couple kids under fucking 11 can be. Naiko was the first girl I kissed. That was also the only time I ever saw Naiko without her hat. Every few years, we would go to Nagano for Christmas, then celebrate Joya-no-Kane, and go back. I remember Naiko at the celebration. I had a Hakama my obaa-san made for me, dark blue with white designs. Naiko was wearing this fuchsia kimono with pink designs and a red obi. Her mother wouldn't let her wear the cat-hat to that. I was 10-the same year she about killed me. We had wandered off because she was going to look for spirits and try to photograph them as the tsuri-gana was hit-or so she said. I went with her, and they set off fireworks after the 108th toll. Naiko kisses me. On the mouth. The following summer, she moved away to Shinjuku just a day after I arrived, and I didn't see her again until I was sixteen. Sometimes, I wonder if she still wears that cat-hat."


	20. O'Hare Session Number Twenty

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session 20

"The Shame of Takanawa"

The short, grey-clad fellow steps, quickly, into his therapist's office and pulls his tiny frame up onto the couch.

"I got something really good for you this week, doc."

"And what is that, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Well, lately, doc, you've been really interested in my family, even things we would prefer to keep secret."

"Go on."

"You'll really love this, too, doc; it's on my Takanawa side. I'm always talking about the O'Hare side of my family-well, here's the "_shame of Takanawa_"-what my mom always called it. Weird folks sometimes, the Japanese." Pennington sits down his pen and studies his small patient's face.

"Please, do go on, Mr. O'Hare. What is the "_shame of Takanawa_"?" O'Hare settles back and undoes his tie. He slips his jacket off.

"My mom has an older sister-first born, six years older than her, three years older than Uncle Iori. Her name is Kumiko Takanawa. When my mother was very little, she was sent to a home in Tokyo because Obaa-san and Ojii-san decided she was too..._unpredictable_ to stay around her younger siblings. She was obsessive compulsive, but she was also schizophrenic. Her delusions fueled her obsessive compulsive behavior, her doctors said. They said she had Schizoaffective Disorder and locked her away."

"Was there an event that caused your Aunt Kumiko to be hospitalized?" He laces his finger and lies them across his abdomen.

"My mother was hyper-active as a child-they just called it "excitable" back then-it's the whole reason she was taught how to play guitar, obaa-san and ojii-san thought it would give her focus and serve to calm her ass down. My Aunt Kumiko had these...she called them what translates to "_Immutable Laws_"-these things that always had to be done and always on a specific day at a specific time. If these were interrupted, she would become violent. My mother happened to interfere with one of Aunt Kumiko's "_Immutable Laws_" and Aunt Kumiko just grabs her before Obaa-san or Ojii-san or even Uncle Iori can do anything and starts shaking her, screaming at her. It took all three of them to pull Kumiko off of my mom. Mom was just three years old; Kumiko was nine. Ojii-san had to hold her down while Uncle Iori had to calm mom down so Obaa-san could call someone. She fucking tried to bite him."

"Who? Who tried to bite whom?"

"Kumiko tried to bite my Ojii-san, shit! I thought that was obvious. He was holding her still; she was so much stronger than they thought, and she tries to bite him, still screeching like some sort of harpy."

"What happened next?"

"An ambulance arrived and they restrained my Aunt and took her to a nearby hospital; my mom had to go to get checked out-see if she had any brain damage or anything from the way Aunt Kumiko was shaking her like she was a fucking rag-doll. At the hospital, they determined that my Aunt Kumiko was mentally ill: she told them that voices had told her of the "_Immutable Laws_" and that she alone had to ensure that they were upheld or the very fabric of existence would unravel. They spoke with my obaa-san and ojii-san about this, and they decided, along with the doctors, that the safest thing for Kumiko was to be put away at this home in Tokyo. She is still there to this day."

"How did you find out about your Aunt Kumiko, Mr. O'Hare?"

"My company had taken off-I was only worth a few mil then, only about 21 years old. My mom just walks into my office one day and says she needs to speak with me personally. I go with her, leaving my bodyguards back in my office, and we go into this conference room, shut and lock the door, close the blinds. She tells me "_Aloysius-kun, I have an older sister...we all thought it would be best to keep her from you until you were old enough. Her name is Kumiko and she lives in a mental home in Tokyo. I want you to go with me-bring Nadja if you like, and see her. Iori will be there._" I ask what sort of crazy she is, if she's dangerous. My mom doesn't tell me anything, just tells me to go with her...actually, pay for her to go and I-and Nadja, too-go with her."

"Did you go?"

"Yes. We left that night, in fact. We met with my Uncle outside the asylum. They had her dressed up and brought her out. Before all this, Mom and Uncle Iori told me what they remembered-what I do not fucking want to do unless I want her to have a shit-fit. I was nervous as hell, and could tell Nadja was, too. Mom kept pinching me under the table. It was her way of telling me to be calm. If I freak out, she freaks out. The more nervous I am, the more nervous she'll be. The pinching sucked. Mom had these thin-ass fingers, always kept her nails long, too. Could feel 'em through my suit-pants. So, I was already scared-I mean, right before I go in, they told me all that shit about her being straight fuckin' crackers, then I have mom digging her goddamned talons right into my thigh. It was all I could do to keep from flipping my shit in there."

"Did your Aunt have an episode during your visit?"

"Thank God, no. She was all tweaky, though. Like, flinching and shit. After a while, we had to leave. She was getting too tweaky. They said it was medicine time for her, anyway, and that it was always a real bitch getting Kumiko to take her damned pills. She thought it was some sort of shit that would block her signals from "_The Higher Ones_"-what she called the voices."


	21. O'Hare Session Number Twenty-One

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Twenty-one

"McGuirk is an Okay Guy"

The short business man enters the room, his small steps pattering against the gentle, pale yellow carpet of Dr. Pennington's office. He sits down on the grey couch-it did not fit with the room, but in an odd way, did. O'Hare sits there for a moment, almost grinning at his therapist.

"Well, Mr. O'Hare, you look as if you are going to burst. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" He says, his dark suit such a stark contrast against the yellow wallpaper behind him.

"So...I may have made a friend-first time in my adult life!" Dr. Pennington smiles. He knew how lonely Mr. O'Hare was most of the time.

"Who is this friend?" he asks. Aloysius laughs.

"It's one of my own fucking body-guards! McGuirk! He's an okay guy, after all." he giggles. "You know, he's the one that always fawned over my mom. Spends most of his free-time watching fucking anime. I'm not really into anime beyond the first two seasons of Digimon, but he just sits around watching it. Not a lot of people would try to attack me, I don't think. It's just nice to have the two of them there. Morty...I don't know much about him-no more than his file says. He fucking majored in "_Musical Theory_". What the hell even is that? I guess that's why he's a body-guard. Not a lot of call for "_musical theorists_" or whatever the hell kind of job you'd get with a degree in _that_. I mean, what the hell? "_In theory, that song sucks_"; what a waste of time."

"Yes, Mr. O'Hare, there are a lot of foolish majors out there, but let's get back to your new friendship with McGuirk."

"Well, one day, he's sitting there watching some gunslinger anime, _Gun Grave_ or _Trigun _or some shit like that, and I just lose it. I was in a really pissy mood that day anyway-had a shitty morning, already in a pissed-off mood. I'm sitting there, listening to it in the original Japanese-he's one of those anime purists-no dub ever. I snap and yell at him: "_Goddamn it, McGuirk, why do you have to be such a fucking weeaboo all the motherfucking time!?_" He just turns his cartoon off, gets up walks to me and says in flawless fucking Japanese: "_My father worked in the Japanese part of town when I was a boy. As such, I lived in the Japanese part of town. I attended all the Japanese schools, from elementary through highschool. I grew up around anime, Japanese products, and Japanese music. You went to Japan every year for a month or two? I lived in a facsimile of Japan until I was 20 years old. That is why I am a _weeaboo_, Mr. O'Hare._" Perfect fucking honorifics and all that shit. Earned a bit of respect from me that day. He's not just some turd-face Japanophile that thinks they know all about Japan from watching _Naruto_ and _One Piece_. They piss me off. For a long time, after I found out McGuirk was a goddamned weeaboo, I thought he was just working for me because I am half-Japanese."

"So, how are the two of you friends?" O'Hare knits his brows, confused.

"Isn't that how becoming friends works?"

"No, sir. It seems to me that he more "showed you" than extended an olive-branch of friendship."

"Well, how does this grab you? I have him, just him, go to lunch with me and decide to chit-chat with him, shoot the breeze. It was nice to at least know someone else to talk to in Japanese since my mother passed away. He told me about how he always stood out in school, the only white kid and the tallest in his class. Plus, his fucking first name is Alaernic. Ael-aer-nik. Hell of a name. No wonder he goes by his last name. He said they'd try to translate it-you know, how my friends in Japan would turn O'Hare into Oharu? He said they'd try every which fucking way. Airuaruniku. Aruairuniku. Arureiniku. Airureiniku. It all just sounded too weird for him. The other kids just ended up calling him Niku. I told him that my grand folks and the kids in Japan had such a hard time with Aloysius that they just called me by my middle name. Aru-rei-shu. That's not a mouth-full, is it? He said a lot of girls fancied him once he hit high school, and it's where he met his wife, Toriko Nakamura. I didn't even know he was married, to tell the truth-he's got a kid, too. A boy. Just a baby. His name is Kin. "


	22. O'Hare Session Number Twenty-two

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Twenty-Two

"Let it Fall Down"

Slowly, O'Hare steps into his therapist's office. Carefully, and keeping his eyes on Dr. Pennington, he pulls himself up onto the couch.

"I'm sure you've heard, haven't you, doc?"

"Heard what, sir?"

"About my Uncle."

"No, sir, I can't say that I have. If you'd like to tell me about it, go ahead." The small man sighs.

"He's been put in the loony bin-not the same one as Charles. I'd never let any of my family end up in the same place as that shit-stomping dick-shelf. Anyway, he's in the asylum now. Checked himself in on his own."

"Why did he do that, sir?"

"Well, it looked like he was going to be okay for a while, but he started hallucinating Genevive around. A lot. He'd see her at various ages-when she was little, when she was a teen, as an adult, all that shit. He ended up getting in a car-accident because of it. He was driving along and he hears her say "_Where are we going, daddy?_" He looks over to the passenger seat and sees her how she looked when she was ten-backwards baseball cap, low pig-tails, green shirt, pink shorts-all that. She was just sitting there, plain as day to him, smiling and kicking her feet. He ass-ended this car and ended up in the hospital. My dad went to visit him, and he told him what I just told you. They said it was some sort of temporary psychosis. I knew this would happen. He was always so close to her-favored her over Cael."

"Why do you think that is, sir?" He lies back, lacing his fingers across his abdomen-getting comfortable.

"Long before Cael and Genevive were born, Uncle Al did every drug he could get his hands on-loved acid the most, though. He thought that the drugs are what made Cael and Genevive sick, and as Genevive was much, much sicker than Cael, he felt guilty. Plus, Aunt Nanette was very hard on Genevive. She favored Cael because he was first born, but blamed all their problems on Genevive. Cael was sick, sure, but he was a fairly normal kid-went to school, could take care of himself. Genevive was always in and out of the hospital, like I said before. Genevive was always so weak, required a lot of attention and care. I think that Aunt Nanette saw her as a burden-especially since, while she could leave Cael alone, she could not leave Genevive alone. As such, she had to stay home while Uncle Al ran the streets during the cocaine ass-capade. She was rough on both of them, sure, but Genevive always took the brunt of her bitchery. I guess Uncle Al felt he had to protect her, too." He squirms for a moment, knocking a cushion onto the floor. "Sorry about that," he reaches down, his tiny hands grasping the edge of the cushion.

"It's fine, sir." He looks over.

"I also have been thinking about it-went to visit Melvin, Krist, and Zam. Mostly for Krist and Zam, but you're right, doctor. Melvin tries to act the way he always has at work, but he's so unhappy. I noticed the bottle of Wellbutrin on his bedside table. He's really not doing well. He keeps his shit together for work and for Krist and Zam, but I don't know, doc. I don't want the two of them ending up as orphans..." O'Hare sits, silent, for a moment, as if he were turning the thought over in his head. "I just really don't want that. Krist and Zam have lost enough...I think that that's why fat-ass Clearance Wadlington-one of my other Marketing employees-has been taking him out lately and visiting with him; keep his spirits up. Plus, there's this family next door. They have a daughter Krist's age. Her name's Marie. They play together a lot. Plus, Clearance is married to this British immigrant woman, moved to Thneedville _before_ it was Thneedville. She's a paraplegic. Evette is her name. Their daughter's name is Janine. Janine Wadlington, Krist's age."

"Have you spoken to Melvin...about Genevive, I mean? The two of you have her in common; it seems to me like it would help both of you to have someone else to talk about her with. You knew her as a kid, teen, and in her twenties. He didn't know her yet. He knew her in her thirties and forties-after your company took off."

"Yeah, actually. From the way Melvin talks, she never changed. Still was always the Genevive I remember-still loved music, still loved video games, still loved _Star Wars_-she used to wear this Boba Fett pendant around her neck when we were kids. She loved Boba Fett-collected anything of him. Melvin told me how he and Genevive met. Apparently, his niece Liz was in Genevive's class; one of her students. The girl put a spider on one of the other kids and Melvin's brother Leland couldn't pick her up so he sent him instead. He was intrigued by her attitude and, much to my chagrin, the way she looked-she had to wear a surgical mask at work due to her weak immune system...he also, eh..._liked what he saw_. They talked, all that shit. He became enamored to her really quickly. He told me he had no idea she was ten years older than him. She invited him to watch her and her band play and he fell hard for her then. Eventually, she returned the feelings, the two of them started dating, and eventually got married."

"Did you go to the wedding, Mr. O'Hare?"

"It was my cousin Genevive. Of course I did. Genevive...I had never seen her dressed so nice. She walked down the aisle to The Foo Fighters' "_Big Me_". Wore a light blue wedding dress, had little blue fake flowers in her hair. Stupid wore a tux. Genevive looked so happy, I was happy for her. It was a lovely wedding, I just wish it wasn't to one of my moron employees, especially not dipshit Melvin Cromwell. Tell the truth, I always thought he was gay." He chuckles, "I guess he showed me. Krist and Zam are proof of that." He looks up at the ceiling. "Krist and Zam. Melvin's been letting Krist wear her Boba Fett necklace. He gets into music just as much as her. I remember when he was born. It nearly killed Genevive; carrying a baby and giving birth. She was always so weak. Krist has her eyes, her laugh, and her smile. Zam has her hair and her chill attitude. Thank God they don't have her sickness, though. They're both healthy. Sometimes, it pains me to see them. Krist, especially, is so much like her. It has to be hell on Melvin, too. He seems to be getting worse. The other day, I caught him sobbing in the break room, listening to the fucking Grateful Dead's "_Box of Rain_"-he said it was the last line that fucked his shit in the street-"_/such a long, long time to be gone/and a short time to be there_". The funeral...he held strong for it, for the kids. I remember Krist seemed so confused. He asked Melvin why," he stops for a moment, "why "_they put mommy in a box_", why he couldn't see her anymore, why she had to go away. He's just two years old. It broke my heart, still does break my heart. He was too young to understand that his mother is dead. Zam will never know her at all." O'Hare squirms. "You wanna know what the worst thing is, doctor? The worst fucking thing?"

"What is that, sir?"

"We-my company-were working on a mask for her that would replace her single-use surgical masks. It was designed to look a little like a gas-mask and pump pure O'Hare Air right in, keeping out everything else. It would have saved her...I just...I couldn't get it to her in time." he sighs, but smiles a little. "It had a voice-modulator built in-something extra that I thought she'd get a kick out of: Darth Vader's voice effect, including the wheezing, Boba Fett's voice effect, and Bane from _Batman_'s voice effect. She would have loved that. I can see her now: "_Oh shit! This shit'll make me sound like Bane? I'm using that when I teach the kids. "Today, children, I will teach you how to count by fives", that shit's awesome._" and putting the mask on. She'd probably play around with the voices for a good two days before setting back to her own voice." he sighs, "Genevive...I miss you and I'm so sorry I couldn't save you..." He sits for a moment before getting up and leaving.


	23. O'Hare Session Number Twenty-Three

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Twenty-three

"The Light of a New Day"

Mr. O'Hare and Dr. Pennington sit in the small, tranquil office. The two of them haven't said much beyond exchanging greetings and making small talk for the past twenty or so minutes. Pennington taps his pen against his notepad and looks over at his tiny patient, who was fiddling with some sort of solid white electronic toy.

"Mr. O'Hare, do you have anything you'd like to talk about?" he asks.

"We've already covered a lot, doc."

"I think there's still a bit more in there. Talk to me, sir. Tell me something. Childhood memories; anything'd do." Al slips the small toy back into his pocket.

"Wanna hear about when my Grammy died?" he asks.

"Sure."

"I wasn't very close to her, but I remember the funeral...and dad and Uncle Al arguing outside of the service hall."

"About what were they arguing, sir?"

"My cousin Genevive. Dad was talking about how Genevive acts exactly like Grammy, and how he's afraid that she'd end up like her. We all knew that she-as well as the rest of Uncle Al's branch of the family smoked weed, and Uncle Al was already done with his cocaine ass-capade. Uncle Al told him that "_weed ain't heroine, Murray_", and he started rattling off on that whole "gateway drug" bullshit. They were eventually told to take it outside or stop arguing by the director. They were really cross with one another for a while after that."

"Were they angry at one another for long?"

"Nah. They calmed down about a month later, but I think dad still worried that Genevive would end up on real drugs. Weed ain't a real drug. Anyone that says otherwise is full of shit, doc." He chuckles. "You remember me telling you about my Grandfather, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Well, when I was around seven, he took me to the Cathedral, still all piss-assed about me celebrating "pagan" holidays with my mom. He really had his ass chapped about Joya-no-Kane...and also, me going with mom to a Buddhist Temple every so often served to piss him off a bit more."

"What happened when he took you to the Cathedral, sir?"

"He brought me in to make me talk to a Priest-try to get the Priest to make me "cut it out with the pagan nonsense". He about shit a brick, too, because it was the newer Cathedral that Dad had been taking me to. We walk in, and the Priest, Father O'Malley greets me and I wave back. Grandfather was dumbfounded and Father O'Malley states that I rarely miss Mass, calling me a good boy, and messing up my hair. This will not do for Grandfather. He gets all frustrated and starts rambling about me going to a Buddhist temple and all the stuff I'd do with my mom. The Priest assures him that it's fine; that times were changing and that the Catholic Church had to change with it to survive. Grandfather insists that we leave, his plans to "_stop his grandson from being a dirty heathen_" thwarted. I didn't really talk to him much after that. After dad found out about that nonsense when Father O'Malley told him next Mass, dad was pissed about it, telling him, essentially, to fuck off and let him and my mom raise me themselves as they see fit."

"So your Grandfather's dogmatism only served to sever his connection to one of his sons and one of his grandsons."

"Hell, just me and dad? Aunt Dee lived in fucking Norway and never spoke to him after she left, and Uncle Al...well, he liked to antagonize him for a while before he got tired of his bullshit. Grandfather's dogmatism cost him everyone." There is a beep from his pocket.

"Didn't think anyone still had pagers, Mr. O'Hare." the small businessman waves his hand.

"Nah, it's my Pendulum. I need to feed it."

"Your what?"

"You sure? You didn't seem too fond of my last digi-rant. You sure you want to start another?" he says as he takes the white toy out of his pocket and presses a few buttons, mouthing "yay!" with the small creature on screen.

"Oh. It's a Digimon toy of some sort."

"Yeah. I've had it since I was a kid-always get Plotmon. I always try to make sure it evolves into Angemon. I really like Angel Digimon, if you couldn't tell with Shakkoumon and all." He finishes pushing buttons. "You wanna see it?" Bored, but with nothing better to do, Dr. Pennington sighs.

"Sure, Mr. O'Hare. Hand it here."

"Be careful with it. It's a Pendulum 0-Virus Busters."

"What's that mean?" Dr. Pennington asks as he studies the small, LCD sprite of Plotmon on the screen.

"Pendulum Model 0 was rare. My Uncle Iori bought it for me for my birthday when I was a kid. Five of my friends in Japan had 'em, too. You can't really get them outside of Japan-not the Pendulum models, anyway. You could get the original V-Pets around when I was born, but I was too little for them, so I got a Pendulum." He snaps his fingers and reaches back over to his therapist. "Hand him back. He's so close to evolving, I don't want you to accidentally kill him, especially since now I have someone else I know that has one."

"Oh? Who's that?"

"McGuirk. He has Deep Savers, Pendulum Model II." He slips the white toy back into his pocket. "Anyway, you remember me telling you about the Crests when I was trying to avoid talking about the Aokigahara Incident?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, five of my friends each had one of these too, so we decided that it would be cool if we picked out which Crest would belong to each of us. Like, the other five would decide who got what. I remember Naiko had Nightmare Soldiers, Pendulum Model III. Always got Candmon and evolved it into Bakemon. We decided that she would have the Crest of Courage. Ichiro, the oldest of us, had Pendulum Model IV, Wind Guardians and always made damn sure he got Mushmon-he really liked Pinocchimon. We decided that he would have the Crest of Sincerity. Daichi had Model 5-Metal Empire and we decided that his Crest was Curiosity. Satomi had Model 2, Deep Savers-like McGuirk. We gave her the Crest of Friendship, and Katsuro had Model 1, Nature Spirits. His was the Crest of Love."

"What was your "Crest", Mr. O'Hare?"

"Gonna blow your shit, but they all decided that "_Iori-kun gets the Crest of Light_". Me. The Crest of fucking _Light_. To think I was ever deserving of Light." he shrugs. "I guess it goes to show how much my money and power has changed me." he laughs, "I'd never be able to get it to activate today-you know, if it was real and not something from a cartoon." Pennington studies Aloysius.

'_He recognizes the change in himself. He sees how he has been corrupted and feels some level of repentance, at least. He wouldn't have said what he said about no longer deserving "the Crest of Light" if he didn't. Perhaps there is hope for him._' he thinks.

"Naiko said that they also debated between Purity, Hope, and Kindness. Personally, I feel like Hope would have fit me better, but whatever. Light is an honor...even though Hikari sort of sucked. I mean, I get it in Adventure-she was 8 years old, but she doesn't get any better in Adventure 02. She is still freakin' useless and waifish. At least Takeru became badass." He sits up, excited. "Like, there's this one part-they cut it in the dub-but the Kaiser hits Takeru right in the face with his whip and Takeru just looks down at all the blood like "Oh, wow. Look at all the fucks I give." and the Kaiser tries to hit him with it again. Takeru fucking catches the damned whip and yanks it out of Ken's hand, dives on him, and beats the tee-total hell out of him. Badass. That's why I won't watch the dub. Fuck the dub. Plus, I grew up watching it in the original Japanese, so the dub is just some extra thing-doesn't hold over me as much." He sighs. "Hikari still didn't suck as much as Mimi. Dear God, I hated her. "_Waaah! I don't want to go on an amazing adventure and save two fucking worlds! I just want to sit on ass and hang out at the mall buying pink things!_" She was even a bit of a bitch to Togemon when Palmon first evolved into her. She called her ugly. She made her eat her words when she evolved into Lilimon, though, telling her "_am I ugly and in poor taste, now?"_ I like Lilimon. Hated Mimi, though. Like, when they first fight the Dark Masters, Piemon says he's going to kill her first, and I was like "Yes! No one stop him!" Miyako sucked, too. She just annoyed the hell out of me." Pennington decides that that is enough digimon for that day.

"Mr. O'Hare...why do you still enjoy digimon? You're almost 34 years old."

"Why shouldn't I? It's something that makes me remember the good times. Plus, it was great."

"So it is nostalgic for you, then?"

"Yeah, I guess." Pennington looks O'Hare over, deciding if he should ask his next question or not.

"Mr. O'Hare, why do you think you no longer deserve _The Crest of Light_?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm corrupted. When I was a boy-hell, before my company took off-I was kind, compassionate, and altruistic. I was a good person...I'm not anymore."

"Why do you feel that you are not a good person anymore?"

"I'm greedy, I'm manipulative, I'm arrogant, and I'm selfish."

"We all have our faults. It is a good thing that you recognize your faults, sir. When you recognize them and admit them, then you can begin to work on them-to make yourself a better person."

"So, we're not done here?"

"No; in fact, I think we may have made a major break-through for you today." Pennington shifts, setting his notebook aside. "However, our hour is up. I will see you next week, Mr. O'Hare." Al scrambles to the floor.

"I'll see you next week, doctor." He leaves.


	24. O'Hare Session Number Twenty-Four

Trouble Me

O'Hare Session Twenty-Four

"Shattered Memories"

Thneedville's dwarf-mayor staggers into the small, yellow-wallpapered room and sits, unsteadily, on the couch. His eyes are wide; confusion, fear.

"Are you okay, sir?" Dr. Pennington asks, concern in his warm voice. Looking up, O'Hare stammers:

"I-I think I'm going crazy, doc..." Logan sits back and laces his fingers, ready to listen to his patient.

"What makes you think that, sir?" Al shifts, looking about the room for a moment.

"My memories-like, my early memories-they're fucked up. Sometimes, someone else is there, but I can't remember who he is. It's like a glitch in my memories."

"Who is this person you see in your memories? Can you describe him to me? Is he an adult or a child?"

"A kid. He's a kid. He looks a lot like me, my same black hair, my same dark eyes, glasses like I used to wear, but older than I am in my memories. He's only in my earliest memories-once I hit school age, he's not there anymore. Like, four and under, I see him."

"Do the other people in your memories see him?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes they talk to him, but I never get a name. It's like something doesn't want me to remember him."

"Does he have dwarfism, too? Perhaps he is a manifestation of yourself?"

"No. He's normal, not a freak like me."

"Sir, please don't call yourself a freak. Your condition is not your fault." O'Hare pulls his legs up and runs his fingers through his smooth, shiny black hair.

"It's tearing me apart. Who the hell is he? Why the hell can't I remember who he is?" Dr. Pennington watches his patient for a moment, turning something over in his mind.

"Sir...I would like to try something with you, if you will consent. I cannot do this to you if you do not consent and are not open to it. If you are closed to the notion, it will not work."

"What? What do you want to try with me? You aren't going to shock me or anything are you?"

"Are you familiar with hypnotherapy?"

"Yes."

"I have a feeling that there is a great deal of trauma associated with this other boy you see in your early memories and that your subconscious has blocked him out."

"Why would I only be seeing him now, though?"

"I do not know, sir." Dr. Pennington sits his pen and notepad down. "Do you consent to hypnotherapy?" O'Hare sits for a moment, considering this.

'_What do I have to lose? As much as I hate to admit it, I trust Dr. Pennington. This may be my only shot to know what the fuck is going on with me._' He sits up straight. "Yes. I consent. Go ahead." Logan raises to his feet and dims the lights in the room. Taking one of the aroma-therapy candles from his desk, he lights it and sets it on the short table between the two of them and gets down, so that he is eye-level with Aloysius.

"Mr. O'Hare, I want you to focus on the flame and the sound of my voice. Block out everything else." The small man's dark eyes fix on the orange and yellow flame dancing at the end of its wick. "Clear your mind, slow your breathing." He does as he is told. "Now, I would like it if you would shut your eyes and breathe in and out, slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth." After a few moments of dead silence, Pennington says, softly, "Can you hear me, Al?" With a soft, gentle innocence in his voice, O'Hare replies:

"_Yes_."

"Good. I want you to go back as far as you can."

"Okay." he says, his voice calm, serene.

"Where are you?"

"I'm in my house. Mom and dad are there, and so is Uncle Kjell and two other people-but I don't know who they are. I'm lying on the couch and my head hurts."

"Do you see the other boy there?"

"No."

"I need you to go back further, if you can."

"Okay."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm at home, in my living room. I'm playing with the other boy. We're playing digimons. He has a WereGarurumon toy and I have an Angemon toy."

"Keep going."

"I hear mom calling for us."

"Good. What is she calling the other boy?"

"Lee."

"What happens next, Al?"

"We keep playing, and Lee tells mom just to give us another minute, he's gonna win. I tell him he isn't, because Angels always beat werewolves and he tells me to hush because WereGarurumon is a Perfect level while Angemon is just an Adult level."

"What happens next?"

"Mom is mad at us, because we're arguing and won't come into the kitchen. Lunch is ready. She calls us by our full names."

"Yes? What does she call you and Lee?"

"Aloysius Iori O'Hare and Ulysses Isao O'Hare. She tells us to stop playing and eat lunch right now."

'_How the hell is "Lee" short for "Ulysses"?_' "Go on."

"Lee knocks over my Angemon, Angewomon, HolyAngemon, and Seraphimon with his Etemon, WereGarurumon, Raremon, and Mugendramon, laughs at me, and we run into the kitchen, with him saying "_Angels always win, huh?_"."

"Can you come forward some?"

"Okay."

"Where are you now, Al?"

"I'm outside. I'm a little older. It's summer. I'm with Lee. We're on a walk. It's very hot out, and Lee asks if I'd like to split a pop with him and get an ice-cream-dad gave him some money. I tell him yes, please. The store is across the street from where we're standing. He starts to walk, and I told him that mom always said that we should look both ways."

"Does he?"

"Yes. He looks back and forth really quick and tells me he'll race me; that the winner decides what pop we get. I tell him that I can't run as fast, and I stop and look both ways. Then..." O'Hare goes silent.

"Al?" No reply. "Mr. O'Hare?"

"A car. Lee doesn't see it, but it's really fast. I yell at Lee to look out. It._ No!_ It hits him! Lee! LEE! LEE! ONIISAN! LEE!"

"Shit!" Logan quickly crosses the table to his patient while O'Hare continues to scream his brother's name-locked in a hypnotic trance. He grabs the small man by his shoulders. "Mr. O'Hare, I want you to focus on my voice-"

"I'm at a funeral now..." His voice is much quieter. Hoarse, but quiet. "I can't talk, but I can hear my mom and dad talking to my Uncle Kjell. I know it's him by the accent. He's talking about doing something to me, as part of his work. Something to make me forget about Lee...He tells them that they have to get rid of any evidence that he ever existed; photos, his clothes, his bed in our room and are never to mention him to or around me. He says that what he will do to make me forget is experimental and may not work."

"Aloysius, please. Focus on the sound of my voice. Listen to me. Fade back away from that. To who you are now. Leave Al behind. Leave the boy behind and return to yourself. Now, open your eyes and when I blow out this candle, you will be a 33 year old man again."

"Okay." Pennington blows out the candle and the bright, youthful innocence leaves O'Hare's eyes, returning them to normal. "What the hell happened? My throat is fucking killing me. What the hell did you do to me, perv?"

"Mr. O'Hare, you don't remember any of what we just did?"

"No, shit-bag. So help me God, if you did some sort of freaky perv-shit to me, I'll have you killed." Dr. Pennington takes a deep breath.

"Mr. O'Hare, do you at least remember what we were talking about when you came in?"

"Yeah, this kid that keeps showing up in my memories."

"The boy is your brother."

"I don't have a brother. I'm an only child. Don't your records show that?"

"You had a brother. His name was Ulysses Isao O'Hare. He was your older brother and died while you were very young. You used to call him Lee-"

"God..." the small man leans forward, his head in his stubby hands, "I remember now...Lee. I was just four, getting ready to turn five that year. Lee was about to turn nine. He was hit by a car...I remember everything, now...The blood. He was twisted up, half his skull shattered and his eye...God. His bones were jutting all out of him. He was dead by the time I got to him. I was so small, but I tried to drag him out of the road so no one else would hit him. People saw and called the cops, my parents, and shit. I was covered in his blood by the time they got there. Then the nightmares started."

"Tell me about the nightmares."

"I was already familiar with _Teke-Teke_, this Japanese urban legend about this girl who was either pushed or jumped onto train tracks and got cut in half. Drags herself around by her upper half cutting other people in half with a scythe. In my nightmares, Lee was like Teke-Teke. He would drag himself along, bloodied and broken. I could hear his bones snapping and dragging along the ground. He would corner me and tell me: "_If you love me, Al, you'll let me have your body_" and he'd break me up like how he was to restore himself. I always woke up sore and scared from those nightmares; always look and make sure my body was how it was supposed to be. Eventually, I became so distressed that I couldn't eat and was afraid to sleep. Kjell did something to me, brought over some machines, then I didn't remember him anymore." He looks over to Logan. "I remember now. I don't know if I should thank you or head-butt you in the 'nads."

"It might make you feel better if you talk about him a bit more-what you remember."

"Like I said before I remembered, he had my same hair and eyes, but his hair-style was different. He wore it shaggy with loose bangs. Always liked wearing black and grey. Loved Digimon, too. We used to pretend we were Yamato and Takeru, sometimes, though Etemon was his favorite. Fuck, he even went to Japan. Hell of a cover-up my family pulled on me; both sides. That Ojii-san and Obaa-san wouldn't even mention him...it must have really fucked me up when he died for measures that extreme to be taken. More about him, though. He was cocky as hell-like dad. Always so sure of himself. He never tolerated other kids treating me like shit because of my dwarfism while we were out, though. He got in a lot of fights when we'd go to the park and the other kids wouldn't let me play on the swings or something. He was a good big brother. Onii-san, I'd call him sometimes. It means "big brother". Despite the fact that Lee looked more...um...Asian than I do, he took more to our Irish side while I took more to our Japanese side as a kid. I think I'm going to take a trip to Thneedville's graveyard after this, then I'm gonna have a little chit-chat with my dad after we're done here." Dr. Pennington looks over at Al.

"I do believe our hour is up, Mr. O'Hare. I'll see you next week, and I look forward to hearing about anything else you can find out about your brother from your father."


	25. Final O'Hare Session

Trouble Me

Final O'Hare Session—Number 25

"Brother"

O'Hare strides, as confident as ever, into Pennington's office and sits on the couch, a smirk on his face.

"Did you find anything out about your brother, sir?" Logan asks.

"Oh, hell yeah." He leans back, his short arms behind his large head. "Talked to my dad about it-told him that I remember Ulysses now."

"What did your father say to that?" O'Hare chuckles.

"At first, dad tried to bullshit me with the mythological Ulysses-you know? From _The Odyssey_? Sometimes called _Odysseus_? I tell him to cut the shit and tell him I mean Lee-my big brother. That I remember him now."

"How did Murray respond?"

"He about shit a brick. He freaks out, telling me he's sorry he made me forget, that it was my uncle Kjell's idea; that I was like I was dead when Lee died; all that shit. Told me it was all he could do: to make me forget he ever existed-that I was wasting away. I wouldn't eat, wouldn't drink, wouldn't sleep, and wouldn't talk. He and mom were afraid I'd die, too, or end up in the nut-house. After he calms his shit down, I tell him that I just want to know everything I can about my brother. Dad goes upstairs and gets this box he had hidden way, way back in his closet. I'm surprised Nadja didn't find it before she left, to tell the truth. Like a blood-hound, that one. Snoopy, too-about like you, doc." He shakes his head, "Anyway, dad brings it down. It's sealed up and he cuts through it. My brother's stuff. His clothes-a lot of black, white, and grey. There were tapes-lots of Bob Dylan. Dad said that Lee loved Bob Dylan. Apparently, I got all his Digimon toys except his Metal Empire Pendulum. I have it in my pocket now, taking care of it in Lee's honor. There was a lot of other stuff in there, too-school-work, doo-dads he made for school, posters of stuff he liked that we didn't share, a copy of _Pokemon Red_ and _Pokemon Gold_ and a Red Gameboy Colour-I was always more of a Digimon person than a Pokemon person. Some other games, too. He named one of the Pokemon in Gold after me-I turned the games on and took a look. It has the same hair as me-"_Hitmontop_", I think it's called. I'm surprised the games still work. There was a flight-jacket and a pair of goggles in there and dad told me that Lee wanted to be a pilot. There was also an old Patamon doll in there. Dad told me that it was mine; that mom made it for me when I was little and I carried it with me everywhere I'd go. He told me that I had it with me the day Lee died; that I dropped it on the side-walk when I ran into the street to get Lee out before anyone else hit him and never picked it back up. He and mom were afraid that the Patamon doll would make me remember. There were pictures of Lee; some just of him, some of him and mom and dad before I was born, some of me and him, some of all four of us. I..." he stops for a moment. "I'm carrying one of him and me in my pocket right now. I was just born. He's holding me. He looks so proud. There were tapes of us, too. Apparently, Lee inherited mom's singing ability. I'm playing harmonica in the background. Mom's playing guitar, dad's playing piano. I tell you, it's weird hearing a seven-year-old singing "_Masters of War_"."

"I thought you said you didn't play any instruments, Mr. O'Hare?" O'Hare pouts.

"A harmonica isn't an instrument. It's a toy."

"What about Bob Dylan, your brother's favorite? He played harmonica."

"Yeah, but he sang and played guitar, too. Plus, Bob Dylan is Bob Dylan. I'm just some turd with a Hohner he's had for 30 years."

"Do you still play your harmonica, Mr. O'Hare?"

"Yeah, sometimes. A lot more now than before." He sighs. "Dad said Lee loved me a lot, and that I thought the world of him. He told me that Lee was my first word." He lies back, looking up. "I wonder what it would have been like if Lee lived? Would I still be who I am today if he lived? Would my air company exist? Would Lee work with me? If he was alive, I'd let him run it with me. I swear I would. Would...would Lee have protected me from Charles? I bet he would have. I bet Lee would have cleaned that Aryan-looking fuck's clock the second he tried to lay a hand on me. Lee...I just wish that you were still here..." he says. "There is so much I wish I could say to you."

"Like I told you with Genevive, Mr. O'Hare, write Lee a letter. Tell him everything you want to tell him, then do as you please with the letter."

"I'll do that." He looks over at the clock. "See you next week, doctor." O'Hare gets up and leaves, still a slight spring in his step.


	26. Special Session One - Marketing Guy 2

Trouble Me

Special Session One

Marketing Guy Number Two—aka: "Melvin Cromwell"

A tall, lanky man clad in a green blazer and tortoise-shell eye-glasses steps into Dr. Pennington's neatly appointed office. The young, blond therapist looks up, smiling.

"Ah, Mr. Cromwell. I've been expecting you." He sits, nervously, on the grey couch across from the doctor.

"I-I was told that you were a good person to talk to if you...if you have some sort of problem." Dr. Pennington sees the anxiety in this man.

"It's okay, Mr. Cromwell. You don't have to be anxious. This is a safe place. Nothing you say here leaves this room-I promise."

"Good."

"Now, do you believe that you have some sort of problem?"

"Yes. I know that you see my late wife's younger cousin, so you know that I am a widower and single father of two children under the age of five."

"Would you like to talk about that, Mr. Cromwell?"

"Yes, please." he says, "I mean, I try to tell Clearance-he's my best friend and coworker-about it, but he doesn't understand. Sure, his wife's a paraplegic, but at least Evette's still alive. He doesn't have to go through what I have to go through. He doesn't have to feel the pain I feel every single day."

"Tell me, then, Mr. Cromwell."

"It hurts. I know the wound's still fresh, but I miss her. I'd give anything to have Genevive back...it's my fault. I should have known better; should have prepared myself for this better."

"How is Genevive's death your fault, Mr. Cromwell? Speaking with her younger cousin, I know that Genevive suffered from a genetic disorder that weakened her and killed her. There was nothing you or anyone else could have done to save her."

"I went into it knowing she was sick. The day we met, I went to pick up my niece Liz from her class. I saw the surgical mask. I had never seen a teacher wear a surgical mask in my life. There was nothing going around, so it wasn't like it was that. She was just wearing it like it was nothing-like she didn't even notice it. Heh, I guess not. She told me that she wasn't allowed out of the house without a surgical mask, all her life-that she couldn't even go to school as a kid. She was homeschooled...and that she was very, very lonely. Mr. O'Hare-I mean, her younger cousin, was the only company she had outside of her older brother and her parents. I can't imagine what that had to have been like, locked away like that. Like a girl in a bubble." Melvin Cromwell sighs, running his long, thin hands through his dark brown hair. "I married her knowing she was going to die."

"You married her because you loved her and she loved you. One cannot choose whom one loves, Mr. Cromwell." He's noticed tears in Melvin's eyes. He hands him a box of tissues. "Take me through a typical day for you, Mr. Cromwell."

"Zam-that's my daughter-usually wakes me up around three in the morning and I have to feed and change her. By the time I get her all settled down, it's too late for me to go back to sleep, so I just sit up with Zam sleeping in my arms, watching the TV with the sound off. Around six I wake Krist up and take the two of them to day-care. Some days, I pack a lunch for Krist. He's two years old-he'll be three in April. I always pack plenty of formula and diapers for Zam and a couple changes of clothes and put them in her diaper bag. I leave them at day-care and head off to work, already tired as can be. I don't like coffee very much-too bitter, so I have a couple pops. I always have a grape pop for Genevive. She loved them, though there's no caffeine in the grape ones. I go through the motions. My medication helps a little, but I still feel so..._empty_, doctor. Krist and Zam are the only things keeping me alive. I put on a face at work, try to be who I was before she died. Sometimes, I sneak a cry in the men's room or in the break room when no one is around. They make me feel a little better. Sometimes, Clearance tries to talk to me about it, but it's always that "_it'll get better, man. Just stay strong_" line that he always feeds me. He doesn't get it. He will never get it. He will never understand how I feel-not until his wife is dead, too. Then, he can talk to me about how it'll "_get better_" and how I should just "_stay strong_". After work, I pick Zam and Krist up from day-care and go back home. I make dinner for myself and Krist and another bottle for Zam. Krist is getting to where he can give himself a bath, but I supervise. I'm so afraid he'll drown or scald himself. He's just two. I don't want to lose him, too. I give Zam her bath and put her to bed. She sleeps like a rock until about three. Once she's in bed, I'll usually read or watch something on TV while Krist plays in the living room. He likes to listen to music a lot-kid hates TV, just like his mother. Thinks it's all stupid and boring, so most nights, we listen to music really quietly, so we don't wake Zam. Then, around nine, I put Krist to bed. I stay up for an hour or so, then go to bed...mine and Genevive's bed...I still stay on my side, with her side empty. God, it hurts so much to not be able to reach over to her, to not be able to hold her, to not be able to kiss or to-" he stops, his face suddenly turning scarlet.

"Have sex, Mr. Cromwell? It is nothing to be ashamed of. The two of you were married and loved one another. You two did have two children together, so it's not like the two of you never did that." The pink fades from Melvin's cheeks. "Have you been experiencing any sexual frustration since Genevive passed away?"

"Yes." he says, his cheeks turning pink again. "Genevive...she was always so lazy and chill, but in the bedroom...let's just say, she would wear me down. Had a hard time keeping up with her. There were times we'd make love two or three times a day, a couple at night, once during the day. She sometimes got me in the shower, too. She was like a ninja, even with the kids up, she'd manage to sneak it without Krist or Zam ever knowing. Once, she had one of her spells and had to be hospitalized. We snuck in there, too. That's where Krist was conceived. I told her, "but what about that guy in the bed over there?" and she said: "Nah, that fuck's in a coma. Wanna see?" and she says to him: "Hey, dick-face, you hear me? You shove entire tvs up your ass on a daily basis? Huh?" then threw a carton of juice at him. He didn't reply and we went at it, with her telling me not to hit the nurse call button, or do. She liked the danger of getting caught an awful lot."

"Krist and Zam. Those are very interesting names, Mr. Cromwell. Why did the two of you name your son Krist and your daughter Zam?"

"Krist was our first, and we debated on a lot of names once we found out we were having a boy. Jethro, after Jethro Tull. Huddie, after Lead belly. Genevive wanted him to have a unique name-a name no other boy in any of his classes would have. Nirvana was her favorite band. I suggested Kurt to her, but she told me that Kurt was still too "normal", but that Krist, after Krist Novoselic, would be perfect, and that's why our son is named Krist. It was the same with Zam. She didn't want any other girl in her class to have the same name as her. In addition to being really passionate about music, Genevive loved _Star Wars_. We thought about Padme, Mon, Baru, Leia, Revan, Bastilla, Shaak-ti, Juhani, Kreia, Mira, Mission, Vette-all sorts of names, but Genevive liked Zam the most, after Zam Wesell-the Clawdite in "_Attack of the Clones_". She said it could also be short for Zamiel, like "The Black Hunter" from the German Opera "_Der Freischütz_". It was Genevive's favorite. So, that's why our daughter is named Zam. Krist Huddie Cromwell and Zam Mira Cromwell. Kept the themes for them-music for Krist and Star Wars for Zam."

"How is Krist doing?"

"He was very confused at first. He didn't understand. I think, on some level, he thought that Genevive would come home. Sometimes, I'd catch him sitting at the window, like he was waiting for her. Finally, he just stopped. If you know of someone who's good at talking to kids, I think Krist might need some help, too." he sighs, "I sat him down one day; told him why his mother would never be coming home. I told him that she was dead, that she would never come back...I don't think I handled it very well, I started crying while I was explaining it to him."

"How did he react?"

"He was just quiet; far away. He's gotten a little better, but I can tell he still hurts." Melvin squirms for a moment. "Would you like to hear about the day she died?"

"If you are ready, Mr. Cromwell."

"I hear Zam over the baby-monitor, and I wake up. My hand-my right hand-was wet. I slept with my right arm around her most nights. I put my glasses on with my left hand and turn on a light and see blood all over my right hand, on Genevive's face, and on her side of the bed, her pillow, the floor. She's so cold, trembling. She coughs off and on, spraying more blood out. I notice that there's blood coming out of her nose, too. She looks up at me and her features are so sunken. It wasn't like that when we went to sleep. Her eyes are empty and she can barely speak. She tries to reach up to me, but she's so weak that her arms just fall back and she mutters my name. I get up with my hand still bloody and call Clearance. He's all pissy, shouting at me over the phone: _"Don't you know what goddamned time it is, Melvin?! Son of a fuck! It's three in the motherfucking morning!_" Half-sobbing, I tell him I have to take Genevive to the hospital; she's spraying blood out of her mouth and I need him and Evette to watch Krist and Zam. He gets there quick-just lives up the street. He's still about half-pissy and I rush Genevive to the hospital, wrapped in our blankets. It all goes so fast from there; the doctors taking her back, away from me. The confusion. The panic. The blood. The tears. It's all a blur. I-I call her parents and her brother and I guess her dad calls Mr. O-her younger cousin. They all show up quick, even him. Once the doctors tell us she's stable, we all go in. I let her dad go in first-she was so close with him, but he said that I go next, that I'm her husband and he wouldn't even go in first if I didn't insist. When he comes back out, I know it won't be long...I go in next and sit at the end of the bed. She wants me closer, so I move closer and lie down beside her..." he stops for a moment, taking some of the tissues and wiping his eyes. "She...she tells me that she loves me and she...she says she's sorry. She apologizes to me. _To me_. She didn't do anything. If I would have noticed sooner; if I wasn't such a hard sleeper; if I would have made her quit work-that's what did it. Her damn mask snagged on something and one of her students had bronchitis and she got it and it just went nuts in her...but, no. I...I let her down..."

"Mr. Cromwell, you didn't let your wife down. Genevive sounds, both from your and, since you've accidentally named him twice now, Mr. O'Hare's accounts, to be a stubborn, head-strong woman. She would have never let you make her stop working. Even so, you couldn't keep everything out. You would have had to put her in a bubble, and Genevive would have never accepted that. She would probably have felt caged, and wouldn't have been able to stand it."

"You think so?"

"Yes, Mr. Cromwell. I do." Pennington settles down a bit. "Now, did she say anything else? What else happened that day, if you're comfortable talking about it?"

"She told me she loved me, and I told her I loved her too, and she said she was sorry that she had to go. I started crying, telling her she didn't. I begged her to stay, but she said she couldn't. She said that she knew that this was the end for her. They had cleaned the blood off her face and I kept wiping away any more blood that would come up. She asks to kiss me one last time...we do. She strokes my cheek. Her hands are like ice and I can feel every bone in her hand. I hold her close, and can feel every single bone in her body. It was like hugging a skeleton. She asks for Mr. O'Hare. Exactly for him. I ask her about her mother and brother, and she told me that she needed him, specifically. If I knew what she was going to make him do, I wouldn't have...I would have sent in her mother or brother. I...I still feel like it was a little selfish of her to do what she did. It was selfish that she never let Cael or Nanette say goodbye to her. It was selfish that she made Mr. O'Hare kill her, essentially. He was her favorite cousin, and, apparently, when they were kids, he loved her to death. I can't imagine what he's going through. I don't think I could kill my brother Leland or my cousin-if I had any...it was selfish that she..." he breaks down, sobbing. His voice is little more than a whimper: "It was selfish that she left me all alone...it was selfish that she left Krist and Zam without their mommy...it was selfish that Zam will never know who she was, and that she'll be only a vague memory for Krist. Genevive...why?" He cries, his slender body rocking with sobs.

"Perhaps Genevive just felt that she couldn't go on any longer. She was in pain, Mr. Cromwell. You knew that, probably better than anyone else. She knew that she was never going to get better. She knew that she wouldn't live very long-"

"But just four years...we were just married for four years...I know it's selfish of me to want to make her stay, but just a little longer with her...that's all I wanted. Four years is not enough...I wanted to grow old with her. I wanted to watch Krist grow into a man and Zam grow into a woman with her. She didn't even stay long enough to see Krist start school. She didn't stay long enough to see Zam walk or hear her first words. She left too early..." Tears rolling down his cheeks, Cromwell shuts his eyes, reciting something he had read once before, while he and Genevive were together: "_I waited all day...you waited all day...but you left before sunset...and I just wanted to tell you the moment was beautiful. Just wanted to dance to bad music, drive bad cars, watch bad TV...should have stayed for the sunset...if not for me..._"

"What is that, Mr. Cromwell?"

"It is a poem that accompanies Pearl Jam's "_Immortality_"." he stammers for a moment, trying to collect himself. "It's under the lyrics for "_Immortality_", on the inside of the _Vitalogy_ album..." He collects himself further and sits up straight. "There's something else I'd like to talk about, doctor, if that would be okay."

"Sure. Anything you have to say is valid, Mr. Cromwell. Please, go ahead." Cromwell braces himself, takes a deep breath, and sighs, slowly letting out his breath.

"I..." he stops for a moment, "I was molested for two years as a child." He takes a couple of tissues from the box and takes a drink of water. "It was my uncle, Robert. He lost his job when I was six and moved in with my mom, my dad, my big brother, and I. He...he _touched_ me for two years. He would wait for them to be asleep and come into my room. He'd..." he tries to collect himself. "He'd undress and get into my bed with me. He told me to keep quiet; that what he was doing to me was normal, that uncles are supposed to do that to their nephews. He would...he would slip his hands into my underwear and _touch_ me, telling me to stop crying and hold still. Eventually just touching and rubbing my...penis...wasn't enough for him, and he started raping me. He would make me lie on my back and look up at him while he would do it. When I would cry, he would shove my underwear in my mouth as a gag. He tied me to my bed-to the metal railing-with my pajama top. Any chance he got, he would do that to me. It was harder for him to sneak raping me than it was just molesting me. He told me that what he was doing to me was special and secret and that I shouldn't ever tell. I was so afraid to say anything. I felt like it was my fault. My parents caught him...hurting me...when I was eight years old."

"Do you know if he ever molested or raped your older brother?"

"He never laid a hand on Leland. Just me. After he was caught, my parents called the cops on him. He was killed in prison."

"Did you ever tell Genevive?"

"We were married. We had no secrets. I told her, and she loved me anyway. I was so afraid she wouldn't love me any more if I told her. She loved me just the same, held me close while I cried. She was crass, mouthy, lazy, and had one hell of a temper, but she was sweet, gentle, and kind to those she loved."

"She had a temper?" Cromwell laughs. Pennington hides a smile. It was nice to see his patient laugh.

"Oh yeah, she had a temper! Famous O'Hare temper; that and being a red-head-though she would always calm down very, very quickly and be back to her mellow self. She was funny as hell when she was mad, too. She'd just yammer on; I don't think she was even paying attention to what she was saying. I'd tell her: "You tell 'em, baby!" and she'd say: "I will! And right to their face!" then she'd usually laugh and calm back down. She was normally very mellow and relaxed...except around her mother."

"Why was that?"

"She and her mother really didn't get along. Her mother was a French immigrant-Nanette was her name. Genevive told me that Nanette showered her big brother Cael with affection, but never her. She got all her love from her father, Aloysius-or Al senior. He's a cool dude. I heard he wasn't always a great father, but at least he loved Genevive. I mean, I'm sure Nanette loved Genevive, too, but she sure as hell had a funny way of showing it."

"What do you mean?"

"Genevive told me that Nanette told Genevive that everything was her fault-their poverty was because of Genevive's medical bills. That her father's drug problem was her fault-that she couldn't keep watch over him because she had to take care of Genevive. It gave Genevive one hell of a guilt complex, doctor. I'm not even trained in that stuff-I went to school for business and marketing; very little psychology, and I could see one hell of a guilt complex in Genevive. She always apologized, it was like "I'm sorry" was her catch-phrase." he settles a bit, "It was always a change when her mother would come over. The half-smile would drop off Genevive's face, replaced by a blank expression and her arms crossed. She was tense; like she was just waiting for an argument to break out between her and her mother. Her mother complained about Krist and Zam's names, saying that they were "_too weird_", "_what was wrong with normal names_". Genevive told her that those are her kids and she can name them whatever the hell she wanted. She said she could name them _Dogfood _and _Taco_ if she wanted. Nanette would pick on every little thing-the way our house looked, Genevive's cooking and house-keeping, that Genevive was making no effort to teach Krist French-Nanette taught both Cael and Genevive French when they were little. Sometimes, it would take me, her father, and her brother to break up fights between the two of them, usually resulting in one of them leaving-like, if we were visiting, we'd have to leave, and if they were visiting, they'd have to leave. I'm sorry that they never settled their differences before Genevive...before she passed away. I can tell that Nanette feels awful about it."

"Is there anything else you'd like to talk about, Mr. Cromwell?"

"Not in the normal sense, no, but I do have something to say. I, apparently, have known Genevive a lot longer than I thought. When I told my dad I was marrying Genevive O'Hare, he laughs and tells me: "See? You were right in the long-run, Mel" I ask him what that means and he tells me something-that he used to play banjo with her father, her brother, and her-in their band they had, when I was little. I used to go with him sometimes, along with my brother Leland. Dad said I always used to say: "Someday, I'm gonna marry that pretty red-haired girl" and Leland would always tell me: "Yeah, right, idiot. She's ten years older than you." I did. I was right, all those years ago." He smiles, his eyes tearing up a bit. "I married that pretty red-haired girl." He wipes his eyes. "I'd like to leave here feeling a little better doctor. If it'd be okay, I'd like to talk about mine and Genevive's first date."

"Go on."

"She wore this red shirt-dress with Boba Fett's insignia-thing on the front, black leggings, and a pair of sandals. A mask, like always, but she had fixed her hair a little; wore a black and red head-band. We went out to this sit-down restaurant, but we took our food outside, so we were away from the crowd and it'd be less dangerous for her to take her mask off. Can't eat and wear a surgical mask. She got a couple drinks. Genevive liked to have a drink every now and again and loved to get high. I found that out later, but you know what? It didn't bother me. High Genevive is really fun. She said the silliest shit when she was stoned. "_I wish that I had, like, gatling guns for arms. That shit'd be tight...like, the only foreseeable problem is how am I supposed to pick shit up and, like, wipe my ass?_", "_I wish I could go back in time and punch William Shakespeare in the face. I'd tell him "QUIT BEING SO DAMNED LONG-WINDED IN YOUR SHIT, BRO!" and then I'd poof away._", "_I bet I would have been best friends with Winston Churchill._", "_I wish I could be, like, a female Willard, but with spiders because rats creep me out. I'd be the queen of the spiders, and all the spiders would know it, too. They'd all do my bidding._"-things like that. She could always make me laugh and I loved the way she talked. My mother was a Polish immigrant, and as she had to learn English, she would always try to make my brother and I speak perfect, formal English at home, like her. Aside from...my uncle...everything at home was neat and tidy, prim and proper. Mom didn't even like for dad to play his banjo in the house, and shit a brick when he got Leland a Dobro and me a Mandolin. "They cannot practice in the house, Thomas! It is too loud!" Genevive was my dirty little angel from the wrong side of the tracks. "_Was a total reject from the wrong side of the tracks/turning into skin and bones_", that was her."

"That's sweet, Mr. Cromwell."

"It's from "_Ready, Steady, Go_" by The Meices." He chuckles. "It looks like Genevive's affinity for music has rubbed off on me." He smiles, softly. "I'll be going now, doctor. It was nice to talk to you." He stands and leaves.


	27. Special Sesson Two - Marketing Guy 1

Trouble Me

Special Session Two

Marketing Guy Number One, aka: "Clearance Wadlington"

(Warning, some of what Clearance talks about is rather horrific)

An over-weight, brown jacketed man enters Dr. Pennington's office and sits on the grey couch. He squirms for a moment, trying to get comfortable.

"Dr. Logan Pennington? Am I in the right room? I've been to three others, and none of them were the right guy." Pennington smiles.

"Yes, I'm Logan Pennington. You must be Clearance Wadlington." The fat man pushes his black-rimmed glasses up.

"Yeah, I am. Thank God I've got the right guy this time." he settles, finally finding a comfortable position in the center of the couch. "So, listen, I've heard from a lot of folks that you are the premier guy to talk to if you've got some sort of problem you'd like to sort out. I'm gonna help you out. Yes, I'm married to a paraplegic, and no, it doesn't bother me. I don't care that Evette's in that chair. Hell, I don't even see it."

"Why is Evette in that wheel-chair, if you don't mind my asking, Mr. Wadlington?" The fat chap shakes his head.

"Nah, it's alright. She was in an accident when she was a kid; back when she was still living in England. She's been in it so long she doesn't remember what it's like to walk-doesn't notice the chair herself. I figured, if she doesn't notice, then I don't notice."

"Very good. Would you like to talk about your wife some? Tell me about her, if you don't mind, Mr. Wadlington." Clearance shrugs.

"Alright. She was born in England, as I said, and lived in Blackbird Leys-you know, part of Oxford. Her father taught at Oxford University-taught about ancient civilizations. Mesopotamians, Greeks, Romans, Aztecs, Ancient Egyptians. He was especially fond of Egyptians. His name was Neilson. Neilson Yorke. Their house was all decked out with all sorts of Ancient Egyptian shit-models. The real thing belongs in a museum. Her mother worked restoring old paintings and also taught at Oxford University-name was Martha. Evette was rich. Rich girl. She was in an accident when she was four that left her paralyzed from the waist down. Car accident. Broke her spine. She's an engineer for O'Hare Air-builds a lot of neat shit for the company, keeps the big-ass fans running, all that nonsense. She's very fond of machines and can be very cool sometimes-I mean like "_I'm so hot for you and you're so cold_" cool, not _cool_ cool. I suppose it is the English way."

"How did you meet?"

"At work. Normally, the marketing fucks like me don't mingle with the gear-heads, but we met in the break-room. I couldn't get a snack machine to work, and she said: "_Ye Gods, man! Just let me do it!_" and fixed it, got my snack for me. We started talking after that. I just love her accent to pieces, and the English shit she says-the phrases, slangs. That shit." He shifts, "So...my problem, doc? Or do you want me to start rambling about my daughter, Janine, now?"

"Go ahead, Mr. Wadlington. Tell me what's troubling you." Clearance takes a drink from the thermos he had brought with him.

"My dad ran out on me when I was a kid. That's my problem. Wanna hear about it?" Logan was somewhat taken aback by Clearance's demeanor towards him. Not even Aloysius O'Hare spoke to him in this manner. Sure, the diminutive CEO swore like a sailor and insulted him on occasion, but he was never so forward and direct.

"Yes, if you'd like to talk about it."

"I would. I wouldn't be here if I didn't." He takes another drink. "Don't expect me to cry over it. I was only 18 months old when he left, so it's not like I knew the bastard or anything. The thing is, my mom took it out on me. She was a drunk. Drank all the damn time. Scotch, especially. That, and whiskey. She was always drunker than a monkey's ass. I think, in retrospect, that's why dad left."

"How did your mother's alcoholism affect you, Mr. Wadlington?"

"She beat the hell out of me. All the time. Throw the bottles at me, beat me with wire hangers. I still can't stand to look at the damn things. She also had a problem with the fact that I'm a fat fuck."

"Mr. Wadlington, you shouldn't say such things about yourself-"

"I know I'm fat. I'm fat, not blind." He narrows his eyes. "It's glandular, before you start in with your diet bullshit. Mom never got that, though. She wouldn't feed me very often. She said "_if I wouldn't eat so goddamned much, I wouldn't be such a pudgy little bastard_". Once, she locked me in the motherfucking closet for three days. I pissed myself while I was locked in there. She saw, screamed at me, dragged me into the bathroom and threw me into the tub, scalding me. She always made sure to burn and hit me where my clothes would cover. Never told because she said I'd be sent to a place where they'd rape me all day every day; that they'd love to fuck my fat ass."

"She burned you?"

"Yeah, plenty of times. She'd burn me all over my body with cigarette butts. A lot of the time, she'd heat up those fucking metal coat-hangers and burn me with those-like she was trying to brand me. That's what she'd say, too. Brand me like the fucking cow I was."

'_It seems he has unresolved feelings about his own weight..._' Pennington thinks. Clearance bites his lip.

"Once, though...once, she took it way, way too far. When I was 11 years old, she decided to _sodomize me with a goddamned umbrella_. She was way drunk and madder than hell for some unknown reason, grabbed me and an umbrella, and dragged me into the kitchen. She bent me over the kitchen table, tore my pants and underwear off and shoved the umbrella up my ass. God, all the blood." There is a break in his facade: he struggles against tears.

'_There is an odd amount of sexual abuse in this town..._' Pennington thinks.

"She...she never told me why. She just fucked me in the ass with it for a while, then tore it out as rough as she shoved it in, and threw it to the ground, then went into the living room to have yet another goddamned drink." He wipes away tears. "I was crying, but I had to keep quiet, or she'd beat the hell out of me. She would always hit me more if she caught me crying after she hit me. I limped into the bathroom and took a hot shower; washed the blood off and got dressed. I just went to bed after that."

"Did she do anything else like that to you, Mr. Wadlington?"

"Coat hangers, again...this time...goddamn. The umbrella was bad, but the coat-hanger. Not there." He breaks down, his facade completely shattered. "She...she..." he takes a deep breath, "She got it hot and made me take my clothes off. I was 15. By this time, she used to heat up a clothes hanger and burn my inner thighs with them a lot...I didn't expect what she did to me. She made me lay down on my back. Just like when I wouldn't undress, she hit me. Knocked me in the side of the head with a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Didn't knock me out, but I was dizzy and my head was bleeding. That wasn't all that was going to bleed that night."

'_This is nightmarish. Why is Clearance so casual about this? Most people would have completely broke._' Pennington knits his brows, studying his patient. '_Defense mechanism. If he acts like it was nothing, then it was nothing in his mind._'

"She pulled my underwear down. When she would burn my thighs, she'd always leave my underwear. I knew something was up, so I started fighting the bitch. Yeah, I'll call my mother a bitch. She is. A goddamned, motherfucking bitch. I can't wait for her to drink herself to death. Anyway, she has me naked, struggling against her, and she starts punching me in the face, over and over again. Breaks my glasses. Eventually, I just go limp. She..." Clearance hesitates. "She parted my legs, and I just whimpered. She smiled at me. Fucking smiled. Whore. Stupid drunk whore. She...she stuck the goddamned coat-hanger up my dick-hole. I screamed, and she hit me again, moving it deeper in me. It burned like fire and she hit my bladder or something. All I know is I pissed. She gets all disgusted and rips it out of me, which hurt just as much as it going in. There was so much blood. She spit on me, called me a disgusting pig and to put on my clothes and get the fuck out of her house. Imagine that shit. _She's_ the one who _violated me with a fucking coat hanger_, and she tells _me_ to get out? I do. I put my clothes on and leave. I'm bleeding bad, staining the front of my pants. I pass out and wake up in the hospital. Mom gets put away in the nut-house, and I get put in a nice foster-family-a couple named Shirley and Clifford Hodge. They had two kids of their own-two boys younger than me, Mike and John. I was never close to them. Sure, the Hodges were nice people, but I just didn't want to get too close to anyone. Jokes on you, you drunk whore. They didn't rape me once. They were nice to me, fed me, got me all the medical treatment I needed, new glasses, new, clean clothes, some of this therapy shit that obviously didn't help or I wouldn't be here now. When I turned 18, I left for college...just sometimes, I wonder, though..."

"What do you wonder, Mr. Wadlington?"

"If dad left because mom was a drunk, why didn't he take me with him? Did he just not care? Did he not love me?"

"I'm sure that's not the case, Mr. Wadlington."

"Then what is?" he says, no small amount of frustration in his voice.

"I cannot say. I am not your father, Mr. Wadlington." Clearance takes a deep, long drink from his thermos and stands.

"Been nice talking to you, doc. Really has." he leaves.

'_I worry about that man. He needs more help, but I have a feeling he won't be back._' Pennington thinks.


	28. Special Session Three - McGuirk

Trouble Me

Special Session Three

"McGuirk"

Wordlessly, a tall, strongly built man clad in in a black trench coat and round, black sunglasses enters the room. His head is bald. He sits, just as silently as he enters, on the couch.

"Alaernic McGuirk?" Pennington asks, trying to hide his intimidation towards the hulking behemoth sitting across from him, as silent and still as a tomb.

"Yes." he says, his thick, deep voice carrying, oddly enough, a Japanese accent.

"Why are you here today, Mr. McGuirk?" Pennington asks. He takes his sunglasses off and smiles slightly, revealing dazzlingly blue eyes. Calmly, and as if he is struggling with English, he says:

"I believe I am suffering from what is known as an identity crisis." he says, plainly.

"Why is that, Mr. McGuirk?"

"I am Irish." he says.

"Yes...?"

"I am sorry. I did not make myself clear." he says. "_Gomenasai_. I am Irish, but I was raised Japanese."

"Are you perhaps half-Japanese...?" Dr. Pennington was having a hard time understanding exactly what McGuirk was trying to tell him. It is no wonder O'Hare's body-guards rarely, if ever, speak.

"No. Unlike O'Hare-sama, I am full-blooded Irish, not of any Japanese descent. He wishes that I would not call him O'Hare-sama, but I feel that I should." he brings his enormous hands together, lacing his thick fingers. "My father worked for a Japanese company, located in the Japanese part of town many, many years ago before Thneedville became less sectionalized. My entire life, I was raised in a facsimile of Japan. I did not become fluent in English until I was 22 years old. I attended the Japanese school, was exposed to Japanese-only media. I am Irish. I know that I am Irish, but I do not feel Irish."

"Ah. Now I understand."

"I am sorry for any misunderstanding and not making myself more clear." his voice is astoundingly calm, but he looks as if he is fighting the urge to bow. "Can you help me feel comfortable as myself?"

"That will take a lot of work, Mr. McGuirk."

"Ah. I am willing to work."

"Tell me about your childhood, Mr. McGuirk."

"I always stood out. Even now, I stand out. It is not just my coat and sun-glasses. I believe that no matter what I wear, I could be easily discerned from a crowd. I was always much larger than everyone else, just as I am now. Even so, the Japanese children accepted me, though they could not pronounce my first name. They called me Niku. Magaku Niku. In all my class photos, I was the easiest to "spot", towering over the other students, light skin, blue eyes. My hair was black, before I shaved it all off."

"Do you have any siblings, Mr. McGuirk?"

"_Hai_. I have an _Oneesan_-big sister, named Taegan. Magaku Taigan, she was called."

"Does your sister have the same identity issues as you, Mr. McGuirk?"

"No. Oneesan does not. She was not born in the Japanese part of town as I was. She speaks Japanese and is well-versed in Japanese culture, but did not latch onto it as I have. She didn't even like me calling her Oneesan."

"What exactly do you wish to accomplish?"

"I wish to be Irish, like my family instead of the "_weird one that thinks he's Japanese_". It would make O'Hare-sama stop calling me a _weeaboo_, too. I do not like being called a _weeaboo_."

"I do not think I can do that, Mr. McGuirk. You are how old, now?"

"I am 35 years old."

"You have been living as a Japanese person for 35 years, Mr. McGuirk. It would take a lot more than a few sessions to help you "become Irish". Furthermore, one cannot "become" one culture, only adopt the mannerisms, speech-patterns, and such of a particular culture. I also feel that you are better off simply coping with the fact that you seem to feel that you are a Japanese man in an Irish man's body. I do not suggest changing your name-anything that severe. If you would like, we could have more sessions, but there is little I can do for you as we stand. I would have to research into this matter a bit more."

"Ah. Thank you. _Arigatou gozaimasu_." He stands, bows, and slips his sunglasses back on. "I will see you next week, then." He leaves, as silently as he entered.


	29. Special Session Four - Morty

Trouble Me

Special Session 4

"Morty"

(As a precautionary statement, Morty stutters quite a bit)

A tall, muscular man clad in the exact same black trench-coat as the man from the day previous enters the small room. The only difference between the two is that this man's sunglasses were rectangular rather than circular. He sits down on the couch and it groans under his bulk.

"H-Hello...?" he says. Logan, startled by the fact that such a huge man would stammer, jumps slightly. "I was told that you are a good listener, th-that you help people who need it. M-My name is Mortimer Perano...I-I would like to talk to you, if that wouldn't be too much trouble. I'll understand if you have more important clients..." The man's voice was so light, lilting. If Logan wasn't looking right at Morty, he wouldn't be able to believe that such a small, gentle voice belonged to such a gargantuan man. Not just a stammer, either, but a full-on stutter.

"No, Mr. Perano. It is no trouble. Please, unburden yourself." He nods and takes off his glasses, revealing celadon green eyes.

"M-My mother left w-when I wa-was only six years old...t-the only th-thing she l-l-left me wa-was a v-v-v-violin. M-My big b-brother, Armand, w-was four-fourteen when she l-left. I-It was just me, d-dad, a-a-and A-Armand."

"Do you know why your mother left, Mr. Perano?" He clenches his teeth and strikes his right thigh. 'I think he's trying to make himself stop stuttering...I've seen this before in people with chronic stutters...'

"S-She l-left a-a note. S-She didn't say much in the n-no-note. S-She j-just said," he shuts his eyes, trying to compose himself, "_I can't stay any longer. Armand, Mortimer, I am sorry. Mortimer, I want you to have my violin. Please, take care of it and know that this is no one's fault but my own. Please don't look for me._"...I-I did. I-I t-took c-care of the v-violin, j-just like m-mom wanted. I l-l-lear-learned to pl-play it. I c-can p-p-play any song on it. Mr. O'Hare t-tests th-this o-ou-out some-sometimes." he looks at Logan. "I-I'm s-s-sorry I-I k-k-keep st-st-stuttering..."

"It's okay, Mr. Perano. Please, continue."

"D-Dad d-d-didn't l-l-loo-look f-for h-her, j-ju-just like she a-asked, but A-Armand and I c-could t-tell he was v-v-very d-de-depressed...w-when I w-wa-was t-te-ten, he k-k-k-ki-killed himself. He h-h-han-hanged h-h-himself in t-the b-ba-bathroom. I...I-I was the one..."

"You were the one who found him, correct?"

"Y-yes. H-He pinned a n-note t-to himself s-saying: "_I'm Sorry_". I-I-I don't k-kn-know wh-what w-wa-was wr-wrong wi-with m-me, b-but I-I j-ju-just st-stood there, l-looking at him until A-Armand c-c-came home from w-work. He w-worked a-and w-wen-went to c-c-college. H-he w-was eigh-eighteen. I-I-I th-think th-that that's w-why d-dad w-w-waited so l-long t-t-to..."

"Mr. Perano, I want to ask you, have you ever had any speech therapy to treat your stutter?"

"N-no."

"When did you develop your stutter?"

"I-I-I've a-al-always h-h-had i-it. I-i-i-it's wh-why I d-don't like to t-ta-talk v-v-very m-much. I-it a-an-annoys p-people. M-Mr. O'H-Hare e-es-especially." His face flushes for a moment. "I-I-If y-y-yo-you'd l-l-like, I-I-I c-c-c-can w-wr-write th-the r-r-rest o-o-of wh-what I-I n-n-ne-need t-to s-s-say. M-m-my st-st-st-stutter j-ju-just s-see-seems t-t-t-to b-be g-g-g-get-getting w-w-worse." he says.

"Whatever you feel the most comfortable doing, Mr. Perano."

"G-Good. I-I-I'll d-do t-th-that, t-th-then." he takes up a pad of paper and a pen and begins writing, quickly. After a few moments he hands the pad of paper to Dr. Pennington. Logan looks at it and the man's handwriting is as delicate as his voice, full of elegant loops. "I-I-I w-wr-write th-th-things ou-out b-b-b-by h-ha-hand a l-l-lot."

"It shows, Mr. Perano. I must say, you have probably the most beautiful handwriting I've ever seen." The behemoth blushes.

"T-th-thank y-y-you, D-doc-doctor P-P-Pen-Penning-Pennington..." Logan begins reading the liturgy that Morty had handed him:

"I'll start reading this right away, Mr. Perano."

"_As I tried to say before, in case you couldn't understand me over my infernal stutter, is that my mother abandoned my brother, father, and I when I was six and my brother was fourteen, leaving only her violin behind. I learned to play and am more than proficient with it-some called me a prodigy when I was a boy. "The Stuttering Prodigy", I was called. People would say: "It is a pain to hear him speak, but when he plays that violin, it is as if it is the singing of angels." People used to pay great deals of money to listen to me play when I was a boy. As early as eight years old, I was playing the works of Tchaikovsky, Liszt, Schubert, Mozart, and Beethoven with the skill of a master. "Ave Maria" is still my favorite song to play. _

_ My father didn't have much of a job, and eventually, his depression got the better of him and he had to quit work and draw a check. My brother got a job when I was eight years old to help. It continued in this manner, with me playing a few shows a month at the local opera and orchestral house, my brother working at a fast-food joint, and my father drawing disability. _

_ When I was ten years old, I arrived home from school. My older brother was still at work, now manager of the pizzeria for which he worked and a freshman in college and I was alone. I called out for dad when I came home. The house was silent. Normally, the television would be playing something, or there would be music playing-father was very fond of classical music-likely why I learned to play classical music first, in retrospect. When I got no reply, I wandered our small home, looking for him. I found him, hanging from the high shower-curtain-rod in our bathroom by an extension cord. He had placed a pillow-case over his head before he hung himself and I am thankful for that. Still, it was very horrific for me. _

_ I did not scream. I just sat in the floor, in the semi-darkness of our bathroom, staring up at him until Armand returned home. He was only going to be there long enough to shower, change, collect his books, and head off for school. He did not attend classes that day. The police were called, and they removed my father. I had no other family, and since my brother was legally an adult, I was handed into his custody. I continued to play. As odd as it is, and as much as the thought sickens me, more people came to see me after my father committed suicide. _

_ I was then the "Orphaned Prodigy"-I am not sure if that is a step up or a step down from being the "Stuttering Prodigy". It is because of my skill with the violin and the hardship I endured that I gained a scholarship to Thneedville University and chose to major in, what else, Musical Theory. _

_ Sadly, once I became a man, people were less interested in listening to me play and I used my massive build to find work as a body-guard for Aloysius Iori O'Hare. I would never tell him this, but I rather like his middle name. Sometimes, he has me play for him. He is impressed by the fact that he can name any song and I'll play it on my violin. Cypress Hill's "Insane in the Membrane", Korn's "Coming Undone", The Rolling Stones' "Can't You Hear Me Knocking", The Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Apache Rose Peacock", Nine Inch Nails' "Every Day is Exactly the Same"-anything. _

_ He had me play a lot more when he was still with Miss Weiss. She really enjoyed my playing, especially when I'd play Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Under the Bridge"-that was her favorite band. She would say: "Look how fast his giant hands move on the tiny neck of that violin! It is amazing, Aloysius!" I liked her. She was oddly jealous-a very jealous woman and would not tolerate any woman being anywhere near him, but she was normally very cheerful and free with compliments. I can tell that Mr. O'Hare misses her greatly, and I sincerely hope that the two of them can be together again. He was so much happier with her; much less prone to his temper tantrums, much less angry._

_ My father's death affected me, perhaps making my stutter all the more worse-as I do remember that it was not as bad before he died. There are times, however, that I feel guilty that Armand had to take care of me for eight years while he should have been enjoying himself. Even so, he still found love and got married. He now has a son named Cyrus. I, too, am married. My wife's name is Brooke and we have a baby daughter named Delfina. She will be a year old, soon._" Pennington looks up.

"Very good, Mr. Perano. It seems that you have control of the trauma caused in your childhood. However, I would like to refer you to a specialist to get that stutter of yours taken care of."

"Y-y-ye-yes, s-s-sir. I-I-I-I'll do t-th-that."

"You are free to go, Mr. Perano. Have a good day, and good luck with your speech therapy. Your speaking voice is so lovely that it is a shame to have it marred by that stutter."

"Y-y-yo-you ha-have a n-n-ni-nice d-d-day, t-t-too, D-d-doctor." He slips his sunglasses on and leaves. Dr. Pennington sits back, sure that the large man has left.

"Sweet Jesus, it is no wonder O'Hare's body-guards don't speak. You can barely understand McGuirk over his Japanese accent and Morty stutters so damned much." He takes off his glasses and rubs the spot between his eyes.


	30. Special Session Five - Mrs Wiggins

Trouble Me

Special Session Five

"Mrs. Wiggins"

A woman in a violet dress, round eye-glasses, and her hair in short, tight curls enters the room, casting about as she does. Unsteadily, she sits on the couch.

"So, you're a shrink. I figured I should talk to you. Everyone in town practically is a-buzz about you and how you help folks out. Rumor is, you even help out Mr. O'Hare, the most powerful man in town...is this true, doctor?"

"Mrs. Wiggins, I am not at liberty to diverge the names of my patients. It would break my oath." Mrs. Wiggins smirks and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"So, that's a yes." she leans back and blows. "Good thing, too. That little guy has _a lot_ of problems and I know damned well my husband is the source of a lot of them."

"Yes, I am aware that you married Charles Wiggins, ma'am. Would you like to talk about it?"

"Yeah, actually, I would." she says. "Sometimes," she says, "I feel like the biggest dumbass in the world for being with him. He's a psychopath. I knew it when we were kids, and I know it now. I'll never tell Ted, and I pray that he never finds out just what kind of monster his father is."

"Does Ted ever ask about his father, Mrs. Wiggins?"

"Please, call me Helen." she says, "No. Ted's never really asked, but I can tell he's curious. I mean, who wouldn't be? He's never even seen a picture of his dad. It makes me happy that people in Thneedville like to pretend that Charles never existed."

"How do the things that Charles has done make you feel?"

"Like an idiot. I already told you this. He repulses me, and I am ashamed of myself that I ever laid with that...that...bastard. That I even have a kid with him and married him. What the hell is the matter with me? Is it the bad boy thing? It's what Charles used to tell me. He'd say: "_You ain't gettin' no badder than me, sweet-cheeks._" I guess he's right. I mean, who the fuck does the things he's done? The rape, especially. He just did that to be cruel. No lust, nothing like that. He just wanted to be a dick. And why O'Hare? For fuck's sake, he _saw his older brother die when he was four years old_. Seems like that would be enough. Seems like any sane, logical person would lay off someone who saw something so horrific at such a young age. I was a kid myself, but I remember all in the papers and on the news. I guess it's because he was an easy target. I mean, does that sound right to you, Doctor?"

"I suppose so."

"He stood out. Half-Asian. A _little person_. Already traumatized as hell from seeing his brother die. I remember him; he was always so timid as a kid. Fearful, even. Weird seeing him now. I'm ashamed to say that I wasn't much better than Charles."

"How so?"

"Well, I never hit him, and I _did_ help him once, but I treated him like an outsider all through school. Sure, I tried to be nice because our parents worked together, but I...I treated him like a freak, like everyone else. He couldn't help his dwarfism and he sure as hell couldn't help what my husband did to him. I feel bad about it, to this day. He was so alone...at least, until that poor deformed girl from Germany showed up. Nadja, I think her name is. I was actually happy for him. We weren't so nice to her, either. She was a foreigner and her arms. They damn near drag the ground-hands coming to the mid-point between her knee and ankle. We all excluded her, too. She didn't make it very easy on us when we wouldn't, either. After she and Mr. O'Hare started dating, when I'd try to befriend her, she'd just snap at me, usually in German. I have no idea what she was even calling me. Plus, I'm Jewish and she's German, so naturally..."

"World War Two was nearly a century ago, Helen."

"I know. All I was saying was perhaps she was hostile because she thought I would be hostile towards her for being German over the whole Holocaust thing. Water under the bridge, as far as I'm concerned. I have no problem with Germans themselves. Nazis, though. Fuck them...worst is...there were times...Charles...blond hair and blue eyes..."

"Charles had some sort of Nazi fixation?"

"Not that I'm aware. Wouldn't surprise me if he did, though, rat-bastard that he is." She sighs. "I feel bad for not telling Ted about his father, but what the hell am I supposed to say? "_Hey, Theodore, your father is in the insane asylum for doing horrific, nightmarish shit to Mr. O'Hare when they were kids. He even raped him once. He'll never be let out, and I really don't want to go see him or for you to see him._" What the hell is that? I can't say that to him, but I don't want to lie to him, either. I just don't know what to do. Ted is twelve, now. He's bound to start asking questions and I am really, really surprised he hasn't yet."

"Does your relationship with Charles cause any other problems in your family?" Helen snorts.

"What relationship? I've not seen that asshole in almost thirteen years. I burn every letter he tries to send to Ted or me. I won't allow him to be mentioned in my home. Ted doesn't even know his paternal grandparents because of it, and that's a damn shame because Walter and Elizabeth are great people. Makes you wonder how such nice people could make such a...a demon. That's what Charles is. A demon." She lies on her side. "Anyway, my dad about had a heart attack when I started dating "_that boy that keeps beating that half-oriental midget boy_", and did have one when I married him. Didn't kill him, he died a few years later, though-right before Ted was born. Mom, like me, forbids Charles to even be mentioned. She says that Ted is the only good thing Charles ever did. That worries me, too."

"What does, Helen?"

"Aside from his hair and eye colour, Ted looks just like Charles. I've even seen Ted get the same sneer on his face his father used to get...I worry...what if Ted becomes like Charles? What if he's crazy, too, but we don't know yet? What if he goes off his nut and kills someone? What if he goes off his nut and kills _multiple_ people? It's in his blood."

"Just because Charles has those problems does not mean that Ted will develop them, too."

"You think?"

"Yes. But you should, when you feel he is ready, gradually let Ted know what his father is. Not all at once, or it will not only "overload" him, but push him away from you; make him distrust you. He will feel like you've lied to him all these years. If he is told everything at once, it may make him snap, just like you fear."

"I will think about that." she says. Looking up, Helen notices the time. "I think I should be getting home...it was nice talking to you, doctor." Helen stands and leaves.


	31. Special Session Six - Nadja Weiss

Trouble Me

Special Session Six

"Nadja Weiss"

A woman clad in solid lilac enters the room, hesitant. She pulls some of her short, frizzy orange hair behind her ears and adjusts her round, thin-wire glasses and sits, delicatley, on the couch. She crosses her long arms across her lap.

"Hallo, doktor." She says, her German accent thick.

"Hello, ma'am. You must be Nadja Weiss. I was expecting you much earlier."

"I am sorry zat I am late."

"No, I mean I expected you to come to see me sooner, not that you are late."

"Vy is zat?"

"You recommended him to see me, you know that Aloysius sees me. Surely he's spoken to you about your own need for therapy." The German woman knits her brow and pouts.

"_Nein_. Aloysius never said anyzing to me about needing therapy." She cocks her head to the side. "Vat, exactly, did he zay about me?"

"Miss Weiss, I cannot say."

"It is my jealousy, isn't it? He spoke about my jealousy." She smirks. "I am a jealous woman, but I come by it naturally. Surely you notice my arms, doktor?"

"I am afraid I do, Miss Weiss."

"Zey are freakishly long. Like zis character on zis "Digimon" cartoon Aloysius used to vatch. My arms are like those of Devimon. It is vy I am a jealous woman. Aloysius is mine, and I vant no other voman to have him. He is mine and mine alone."

"But I thought you left him."

"_Jawohl_. Though I left him, he has not left my heart and I hope zat I have not left his. I hope zat he comes to his senses. I vant him back, but I could not stand ze vay ve vere living."

"Why was that? What about the way you were living could you not stand, Miss Weiss?"

"I felt zat he vas trying to change me; zat with his money and power, he vanted to improve me. My clothing vas made to hide my deformities-to make my arms not appear to be so long. I could no longer wear purple. It iz my favorite colour. All my clothing vas vite and blue; outlandish looking, too. I looked like a character from ze Japanese cartoons-ze any-may."

"Are you certain that he was trying to change you? Perhaps he just wanted you to feel beautiful? Perhaps he just wanted for you to feel less self-conscious about your arms?"

"Perhaps. I had not considered zat."

"When did you notice your arms being different?"

"Ven I vas a leetle girl, still living in Germany. Ze other children called me _Schlanke Frau_ and would flee from me as if I vere some sort of monster. My mother did not care for me, eizer. She vanted ze doktors to break my arms and remold zem to an appropriate length and ven zey vouldn't, she took her frustration out on me. She beat me for a very long time before my Papa found out. My seester, Rosilda never told, never helped me, eizer. No matter how much I begged for her help, she did nozing. I vill never schpeek to her again. I have no seester, as far as I am concerned. She never even told Papa zat mama vas beating me; he had to find out on his own. Zat is vy ve left Germany-vy ve moved here. Ve vanted to get far avay from her, so zat she could not find me and take me avay. I have not seen her since I vas twelve years old, and I do not care to see her ever again. Papa was all I needed...until I met Aloysius. He vas ze first person other zan Papa to not look at me like I vas a freak or a monster. Ze other children treated him like a freak, too. It was because he is mixed race and his dwarfism, he said. I loved him ze moment I saw him. He vas so cute vith his smooth, shiny black hair, dark eyes, big glasses, braces-top and bottom. I couldn't believe zat no one else had snatched such a _Süße_ up-a cutie. Zat is vy I vas always so jealous. I am a freak. I do not know why Aloysius stayed vith me. _Das Wunder_."

"He stayed with you because he loves you."

"Vat? He still...?" Pennington's eyes grow wide.

"Let's talk about your jealousy some more, Miss Weiss."

"_Nein_. You zaid zat he "loves" me, not "loved". He ztill loves me? Oh, mein leibhabe...Please, come back to me..." She sighs, "Have it your vay. As I have told you, I see all vomen zat Aloysius is not related to as a threat. I vas afraid zat he vould move on to someone who was not deformed when he became wealthy...but he really did...does...love me...Aloysius, I vill be waiting for you. I zwear it." She stands. "Danke, doktor." Quickly, Nadja leaves the room, her long arms swinging alongside her as she walks.


	32. Special Session Seven - Genevive

Trouble Me

Special Session Seven

"Genevive's Echoes"

(This takes place before the other specials and before the session wherein O'Hare discusses her death)

A woman clad in baggy, brown cargo pants and a black hoodie enters the room. Casually, she flops down onto the couch. She pulls the mess of dark red hair out of her face revealing a pale-yellow and white surgical mask over her nose and mouth.

"Hey, bro. So, like, my little 'cuz tells me that you're, like, a good dude to talk to and shit."

"You must be Genevive O'Hare..." Pennington says, looking over at the swizzle-stick with hair sprawled out like an afghan on his couch. The woman waggles her finger.

"Ah, nope! Genevive Cromwell-have been for a few years, now." She laughs, "But yeah, I was Genevive O'Hare. What gave that shit away? I don't exactly look like lil' Al, but I'm Irish-French, not Irish-Japanese, so..."

"The way you speak. Your cousin does an astounding impersonation of you, Mrs. Cromwell. The surgical mask and that mess on your head didn't hurt, either."

"Cool, so you know me already, then." she squirms, now half-sitting. "So, like my problem is all this shit here." she motions to the mask resting on her face.

"And that would be...?"

"Hey, you said lil' Al talks about me in here, enough to impersonate me. You know what it was like for me, bro."

'_She talks like that and she's an educator?'_ Pennington thinks. Almost as if she had read his mind, Genevive says:

"I don't talk like this when I'm teaching. I leave my bros, homies, dudes, mans, likes, and shit at the door when I'm at work. The swears, too. I mean, I, like teach six year olds. I can't drop a "_goddamn_" or a "_fuck_" in front of them. I speak proper English at work and use a more professional-like tone." She shakes her head: "Anyway, my sickness is my problem, though it's less of a problem-less of a stress factor, now."

"And why is that, Mrs. Cromwell?"

"Please, call me Genevive. Not Gennie, though. I'm liable to kick you square in the 'nads if you call me that."

"I won't call you that, Genevive." This woman was exactly as Mr. O'Hare had described.

"Cool. So, like when I was younger, I lived at home with my ma and daddy. Like, when I was in college. It was cheaper and safer. I was afraid if I, like, lived on campus, my dorm-mates would steal my shit. I had narcotics, man! People'll steal the shit out of Vicodin and Valium. Anyway, I couldn't work and go to school at the same time, so I felt useless a lot."

"A lot of people work and attend college at the same time, Genevive. Why couldn't you?"

"Eh, I liked to focus on my studies, and when I did get a job there for a while, my grades suffered. I liked staying on the Dean's List all during school and graduating at the top of my class. That shit was sweet. _Summa Cum Laude_. Fuck yeah."

"Go on."

"So, like I didn't work. I felt like I was dead-weight. I think that the big problem there was mom used to always blame our poverty on my medical bills and shit, so I've always felt like a drain, ya know? Then there's the whole "_isolated-until-I-went-to-college_" thing."

"Tell me about it."

"I was just always so lonely. Cael...me and him never saw eye-to-eye. Not much, any-way. He was and is a lot like ma. Never saw eye-to-eye with her, either. Dad, lil 'cuz. They were my only contact with other people-the only people I really talked to. There always had to be precautions taken; "_Genevive can't eat that, she's allergic to it_", or "_Sorry, Lil' Al, but I don't like the sound of that sniff you've got. You can't see Genevive today._" A lot of the time, I just wished they would have put a goddamned bubble around me and be done with it. I very rarely got to go outside, let alone be around other kids, and never without one of these masks. That sure as hell made the other kids at the park want to play with me. "_I think that girl's got cancer or AIDS or something. Let's not play with her._" Fuck them. Ma also used to have me wear gloves a lot, and touch as little as possible. By the time I went off to college, I barely knew how to act. I still don't. I'm just how I've always been, man. I mostly just copied dad."

"Why did you decide to be a teacher, Genevive?"

"I think it was lil' Al. When I'd be a little blazed, I'd sit there and talk about anything-history, science, video games, movies, books, music, and linguistics. Al would just sit there and soak it all up. He'd listen to every word of my ramblings, and he'd remember it. I fucking taught him all about World War Two when he was seven. I just decided that I wanted to teach. I wanted to fill little heads with cool shit-wanted kids to see that learning was fun and that being smart is cool. That, and summer break forever. It's also where I met my husband, Melvin. He showed up to pick up his niece. I had to keep her after-school because she put Devia, our class tarantula, on Eddie Jackson. Pssht. I'd have done it, too. That kid was a little narc. I told him that. He showed up and asked what Liz did, and she was like: "I didn't do nothin!" and I said: "That's her story, and she's sticking to it." and he and I speak in the hall, and I tell him what she did, and what I just told you-that I'd have done it, too. He asks me out. I couldn't believe it. He asked out the freak with the mask. He didn't think I had like, some super-ultra-mega-fucking-cancer like everybody else seemed to. But I know something he doesn't." her voice in a sing-song tone at the end.

"And what's that, Genevive?"

"We knew each other before. I didn't realize it before, but as we went on more and more dates, I realized; _Jesus Christ bananas, he's that kid that used to come over with that guy that would sometimes play banjo with dad and me and Cael. The scrawny boy that would always stare at me and blush! _I'm ten years older than Melvin, you see. He was a little kid to me, then. That little boy that had a crush on me. I remember being annoyed by it. He grew into quite a guy. He took a little getting used to: he is excitable as all dog-shit and skittish as fuck, too. He does not share my love of horror, but he'll always watch the movies with me. I remember, we were watching this one, and the stupid dumbass on the movie gets his face ripped off by the monster, and I laugh like fuck and am like: "_Did you see that shit!? Stupid fucker got his goddamned face ripped off! Hell yeah!_" and he's scared shitless. That's what I like about Melvin. He's a little bit of a pansy. It makes me feel, I don't know, strong? Tough? Instead of the "frail, half-dead girl". He's also really good to me, ya know? He always takes care of me when I need it. When I'm too weak to get up and get dressed for work in the morning, he helps me. When my legs decide to be douche-bags and I fall, he catches me or at least picks me up. We dated for a lot longer than lil' 'cuz thinks. Hell, I was moved-in with Melvin after we had been dating for a year. I couldn't afford my house-rent because I had to pay for a surgery and a couple scans and blood-panels, so I got thrown out. Melvin let me stay with him. We got married not long after that. Check this shit out, doctor." she says, a smirk nearly perceptible under the yellow fabric of her mask. "He fucking asks my lil' 'cuz for my hand. He had already asked my dad, though he didn't have to. My dad was fine with Melvin. Dad always said, "I don't care who you marry as long as he treats you right.", and Melvin then decides to ask Lil' Al. Lil' 'cuz _flips his shit_. He is ultra-mega pissed that Melvin and I have been dating. I don't know what his deal was. He damn near fired him; I had to beg for his job. Well, not beg. Lil' 'cuz'd do anything for me. I know that. Sure, me and Al don't see each other very much and I miss the hell out of him, but I know. He's the damn Mayor and the CEO of O'Hare Air. He doesn't have time to hang out with his sick, stoner cousin anymore. Still, I don't know why he was so pissed that Melvin and I were together and were going to get married. It still annoys him, but he tolerates it. When Melvin first told me that he asked Lil' Al for my hand in marriage, I thought he was joking. I laughed for five minutes, then saw that he was serious and laughed for a little while longer. What the fuck does my little cousin have to do with whom I marry? He was just Melvin's boss, hell. Melvin didn't need his goddamned approval to marry me. He only needed mine and to hell with everyone else."

"Did he attend the wedding?"

"Yeah. I told you, Lil' Al'd do anything for me, even as shabby of a wedding as it was. I didn't want some fancy, silly shit. Just me, Melvin, our families and friends...I didn't have any friends at work, so Lil' Al's girlfriend? Fiancé? Something. Anyway, Nadja was my Maid of Honour. Clearance, one of Melvin's coworkers, was his Best Man. Only time I've ever really gotten dressed up. Felt weird. That I couldn't just throw the dress on like all my other clothes and that I couldn't just brush my hair and let it do whatever was weird. Make-up, too. I never wear the shit. Too much of a hassle and I don't like the way I look in it. We had simple, cheap food, fake flowers, and brought my stereo for the music. We had our first dance to "_Tank!_"-you know, the theme song for that anime "_Cowboy Bebop_"? Pump me full of enough pain medication, and I can move like hell. Surprised the hell out of everybody. Of course Melvin can dance-he's built perfect for it. Light as hell on his feet, like a ninja. Me, I was too hopped up on Vicodin to notice even the slightest pain. I could have broken my leg and not have known it. Wore both of us the fuck out, though. Like, that was the most rehearsed thing out of the entire wedding. We did only one rehearsal before the wedding. Just a dry run."

"How are things with you and Melvin?"

"Great. I'm just really happy with him. He takes good care of me, careful, but doesn't handle me with kid-gloves. Like, he doesn't make me feel caged or like I'm made of fucking glass. He respects me enough to let me get back up on my own when I can. I feel a lot better than I have in years. Like, I'm still sick, but I'm happier than I've been in years. And the best part, something I never thought could happen for me, something I swore I'd never let happen when I was in my 20s-I got kids, man! Kids! Two of 'em! Me and Melvin, we have a couple kids! A boy named Krist and a girl named Zam. Krist is walking and talking and stuff, but Zam's still a baby. Check this shit out, too, doc. They don't have the bullshit I have! They're healthy! I always heard that if the mother is infected, then there is a 99.999999% chance that the children will be born sick. I guess Melvin is my luck charm...either him, or my Boba Fett coin. I know that shit's lucky. I had it in my pocket the day we met. It was on the side-table at the hospital both where we conceived and I gave birth to Krist, it was on our bedside table when we conceived Zam, and was in my hand when Zam was born. That shit brings me luck. I know it does."

"Why do you feel that this Boba Fett coin brings you luck?"

"Isn't it obvious? I mean, I think I just gave pretty good examples as to why it's good luck. Also had it in my pocket when I got my job at the elementary. Boba Fett is the man, man. He's always got my back." She looks at a pocket-watch with Boba Fett's Death's Head insigna engraved into the lid. "Well, it's been real, doc, but I gotta go. See ya, bro." She half-limps out of the room.

'_It seems that both Mr. O'Hare and his cousin have something to which they hold onto for luck-Mr. O'Hare's Shakkoumon figure and Genevive's Boba Fett coin._' Pennington thinks.


	33. Special Session Eight - Cy

Trouble Me

Special Session Eight

"Cy the Delivery Guy"

A tall, slightly over-weight man with a thick, dark brown moustache enters the room. He is dressed in a pair of white over-alls and a blue long-sleeved shirt. He sits, looking at the young, blond man sitting across from him in a worn, matching grey lounge chair.

"Hello, Mr. Cirillo. You're perfectly on time, aren't you?" The larger man smiles.

"One must always be punctual. It is very important." he says. "I don't really know why I'm here, to tell you the truth, doctor. There is nothing wrong with me, but my wife, Laura, insists that I talk to someone about my childhood. I'm surprised I can afford this; that insurance would cover this for someone in delivery." he shrugs.

"Tell me about your childhood, if you wish, Mr. Cirillo."

"Please, call me Cy." he says, smiling. He shrugs. "I really don't have a problem. I'm right as rain."

"Everyone needs someone to talk to, Cy." Dr. Pennington says.

"Alright," he shrugs again. "Well, I was the oldest of eight kids-Roman Catholic, you see. Mom and dad weren't...they were rather irresponsible people. I suppose that is why there was eight of us, too. A lot of the time, they'd just forget to pay bills. I always picked up the slack, though. I had to. It didn't bother me. Mr. Como always said that you have to _accentuate the positive_, and that's what I did."

"Mr. Como?"

"Perry Como. I'm very fond of Perry Como. I also like Frank Sinatra, Rosemary Clooney, Dean Martin, Bobby Darin, and Peggy Lee. I took care of all of my brothers and sisters, made sure our bills were paid along with the mortgage, balance the check-book, and keep the house in order."

"Why couldn't your parents do that, Cy?"

"Dad was really busy with his work, and when he was home, it's like he just turned off. Mom...she was just always checked out. Always watching tv."

"What did your father do for a living, Cy?"

"He was a detective. He was in the Special Victims unit. I don't blame him for just not wanting to do anything when he got home from work. I couldn't do what he did-to have to see such horrible things; the worst of humanity...I don't think he remembers, but I was the one who found Mr. O'Hare. I'd never say it to him, I think he just wants to forget what happened, but I remember. I was the high-schooler that found him in that bathroom stall. I heard whimpering inside, and went to look. I won't forget it; it was terrible, so much blood and him sobbing on the floor, still tied up. He begged me to untie him or lie him on his side, but I couldn't. I knew because of dad's line of work, if I were to do that, it would compromise the integrity of the crime-scene, could damage some of the evidence. I did call for help, and my father was assigned to the case." he rubs his bald head. "I suppose he wouldn't remember me, I look so different now than I did when I was fifteen. Full head of long, brown hair. I was considered very attractive in my day." he sighs. "I guess time does that to all of us." He smiles again.

"How did what you saw in the bathroom stall make you feel, Cy?"

"Repulsed. Disgusted. Angry. You wouldn't know it now, but Mr. O'Hare was a _very _gentle boy. I knew what happened to him the second I saw him. The blood, the bruises. The fact that he was naked and bound...the position he was in. He couldn't get himself out of it. That someone would do that to such a sweet, gentle boy. I lost a little bit of my faith in humanity that day, doctor."

"Did you receive any therapy after that, Cy?"

"No. I wasn't the one who was raped. Why would I need therapy? I just tried to put it out of my mind. God, the way it was for him after it happened. I felt very sorry for him for a long time. Even though he's not the best boss; he's very temperamental, very angry, I still feel bad for him. Perhaps all that he endured is what made him the way he is now. Dad was a bit more checked out than normal during and after that case. He'd never dealt with a child victim, before; especially not where the rapist was also a child. He started drinking a bit more."

"Did he ever hit you or your siblings?"

"No. He just sort of zoned out. The lights were on, but no one was home. My parents were irresponsible, not abusive. There was always plenty of money, they just often forgot to take care of things. I'm alright. Really, I am."

"If you say so, Cy."

"I do say so. I am perfectly fine." Pennington looks him over.

"If that's the case; if you really feel that there is nothing wrong, if there is nothing that is troubling you, then you can leave any time you're ready, Mr. Cirillo." Cy sits for a moment.

"Alright, well played. I just wish that my parents would have let me be a boy. I wish that I didn't have to spend my childhood raising my siblings and keeping everything at home running. I just wanted to have a childhood, but I didn't get to, and sometimes, yes, it bothers me, but I can't let it get to me. _Bring gloom down to the minimum and have faith or Pandemonium is liable to walk up on the scene_."

"Don't you see what you're doing, Mr. Cirillo? You're using Perry Como as a father figure. You've quoted one of his songs twice now."

"And so what if I did?" Cy is becoming a little apprehensive.

"It is unhealthy. Perry Como was not your father. You looked to his upbeat music as a way to cope with your situation. You looked to the seemingly halcyon times of the 1950s and its values as a shield, and took the better of its morals as your own. You were born in 1995, correct? Not a lot of people your age even know who Perry Como is."

"I know. I know, okay? I know I did all that, but what's wrong with it? Nothing." Cy narrows his eyes. "I think I'm ready to leave."

"I can't make you stay, Mr. Cirillo, though I wish you would." Cy leaves, visibly agitated.

"That man is very tightly wound...he really needs more therapy, but I doubt he'll return."


	34. Special Session 9 - Ted's Grandpa

Trouble Me

Special Session Nine

"Mr. Walter Wiggins"

An elderly man with fading brown hair and bright blue eyes slips into the room. His pale brown suit fits nicely. This man carried with him an air of honour, respect, and dignity-of poise and bearing. He sits, neatly, his hands folded in his lap and his feet firmly on the cream-coloured carpet.

"Ah, Mr. Wiggins. You're a little early."

"Walter, please." He says. His voice is demure, troubled. "I would like to speak with you, Dr. Pennington. I know you must be well aware of the workings of my son, Charles. Though no one talks about it, we all know what sort of monster my son is."

"Yes, Walter, I am familiar with Charles Wiggins and the things he's done." The old man sighs.

"It's horrible, but there are a lot of times I wish Charles was never born...I feel terrible that I ever brought that man into this world. All the things he had done to that other boy..." he shakes his head and takes off his half-rimmed glasses, rubbing the spot between his eyes. "I should have stopped him. I could have put an end to it before he...violated that other boy." he puts his glasses back on. "I wanted to...after we brought Charles home from jail, but before the trial...I wanted to smother him in his sleep. I had been defending him in all the other court-cases between him and that poor midget boy, but I couldn't defend that. Refused to. Rape is unforgivable and unjustifiable in all circumstances. I was done with Charles at that point. I lobbied for him to be placed away for the rest of his life after that. If they would have listened to me...It's a wonder it wasn't worse. I was so afraid that Charles was going to kill the O'Hare boy. I...I was a respected lawyer before Charles did all those things. Walter Wiggins, Esquire. The best lawyer in town...then, I was just "_the father of that monster_"."

"Walter, Charles's problem was not your fault. Charles is psychotic."

"I could have prevented it all if I had just said something when he was younger..."

"What do you mean?" Sighing, Walter looks Pennington over.

"I never said anything, but when he was very young, I caught Charles torturing rabbits to death. The blood. There was always so much blood...even around his mouth...like he had been drinking it. If I had said something, he wouldn't have moved on to a larger "rabbit"...the O'Hare boy. Do you think that that could have been a factor in my son choosing to target him? Subconsciously? I should have said something as soon as I saw it, but I didn't know what to do. Charles was only four or five at the time and I caught him in the garage with a couple of adult rabbits and a litter of baby rabbits, killing them one by one. The first, he tore its neck out with a pocket-knife-that damned red and white one he always carried. The second, the mother rabbit-he beat and eventually threw against our garage wall. That's what got my attention. I could hear squealing and a wet thump against the wall and went to investigate. When I got in, Charles had blood all over him; all over his clothes, all over his face...on his teeth...He was beating the baby rabbits to death with a hammer. He was humming as he did this. I was in shock. I just stood there, not believing what I was seeing. When they are just a mass of broken bones, blood, tissue, and fur, he turns to me, smiling. _Sneering_. He stood up, dropped the hammer, and walked right past me, whistling the same tune he had been humming. It was Offenbach's "_Infernal Galop_", the freaky little bastard. Then he starts laughing and "singing" it. I should have said something that day. Taken him in, had him evaluated. It would have saved that poor other boy so much pain and suffering." For the first time in his career, Pennington is unsure of what to say. "I can't even bear to look at Ted. He looks so much like Charles. I...I just don't want Ted to turn out like Charles, so I've stayed away all his life."

"I don't think that Ted will turn out like Charles, but you do need to be in your grandson's life, Walter."

"You think?"

"I do. I do not know Ted, but I know that there is no certainty that Ted will become like Charles. And I do know that you do need to be part of your grandson's life."

"I will take that into consideration."

"I assure you, Charles's condition was not your fault, Walter." The older man stands, sighs slightly, and turns to Dr. Pennington.

"It was nice speaking to you. It was nice to tell someone about what I saw all those years ago...I've never even told his mother. Goodbye, Dr. Pennington. I hope you have a pleasent day." He leaves.


	35. Special Session 10 - The Once-ler

Trouble Me

Special Session 10

"The Once-ler"

Final Session

Logan Pennington, sleepily, wanders into his kitchen for a glass of water. He doesn't turn on a light, and fumbles for a moment in his cabinets for a glass.

"Hello, Dr. Logan Pennington." comes a tired voice from behind. Logan drops his glass. It shatters as it hits the linoleum floor beneath. He turns quick to see an aging man in an awkward green suit, long green gloves, and a rather impressive moustache standing behind him in the pale moonlight.

"Who the hell are you and how the hell did you get in my house." Pennington's hands skate across his counter, looking for a knife.

"Woah, son. Settle down. No need to knife me." the man says, smiling. "Perhaps we should speak in your living room? It's probably much more comfortable in there." Cautiously, Logan follows this aged man into his own living room. The two of them sit, Logan on his favorite chair and the mysterious man on the couch, putting his long legs on the table.

"Are you going to tell me who you are, old man, or am I going to have to call the cops? I don't even care how you got in anymore." The elder gent smiles.

"Some called me The Once-ler, but I'd rather just be called Once-ler. I'd like to speak to you. The word is that you're a pretty good guy to talk to."

"If you'd like to have a therapy session, one can be arranged, but right now it's," he looks at the clock. Surprised, he cries out: "Two in the morning!?" The Once-ler shakes his head.

"I'm afraid I can't come into town during the day or I would be more than happy to come to your office."

"You don't live in town?"

"No. I live in my Lurkum outside of the town's walls. Have for years, now."

"Then how do you know of me?"

"I founded this city. I like to keep an eye and an ear on it, I just can't live here. My solitude is my atonement." He stretches out, yawning a bit. "That's not what I came to talk to you about, though. I've got a feeling that all the problems I've caused will be fixed soon enough, though for an ignoble reason."

"Then why do you want to speak to me, Once-ler?"

"I have mommy issues. Daddy issues, too, to be fair. I've never spoken to anyone about it, and you seem as good as anybody. If you listen and don't shoot, stab, or otherwise maim or kill me or call the police, I'll let you in on a little secret-something you're missing. Something right in front of your face."

"Go ahead. Tell me what you want to say." Logan says, still wary of this odd man.

"You see, before I was born-about five months before I was born, my father left my mother and brothers. I had two older brothers, twins. Idiots, the pair of them, but I loved them just the same. I think perhaps that is why my mother was a lot harder on me than on my brothers-always telling me," he impersonates his mother, "_Oncie, you'll never amount to a hill of beans! You'll never be anything! You're going to fail at everything you try!_" Returning to his natural voice, he continues. "She never said anything like that to Bret or Chett. Perhaps it was her anger towards my father, perhaps it was because they were both morons-who can say? All I know is that it hurt my feelings for a very long time. It was that pain, though, that made me strive for better. It is what drove me to create my Thneed, build the economy-and this town-and, sadly, completely decimate the ecosystem of this area. Greed took hold of me, further manipulated by my desire to please my mother. I just wanted her to love me. I just wanted her approval. In the immortal words of John Lennon: "_Mother, you had me, but I never had you. I wanted you, you didn't want me_". It still hurts a bit, I won't lie. Then, once Thneed Inc. took off, once I kept biggering and biggering, becoming wealthier and wealthier, who should show up but my ass-face father. After his crocodile tears about having to leave my brothers and me behind, what does he do? He hits me up for money. Not a small amount, either. 500K. He said: "_You can afford that, can't you, Oncie? Hell, you're rich as a Nazi!_"-which what the hell to the Nazi comment, but the _Oncie_ thing went all over me. I snapped. Something in me broke. He doesn't love me. He wasn't sorry he left. He just wanted money, and that he called me by my pet name...that rat-bastard. I screamed at him, I told him he had no right to ever, ever call me Oncie and that I sure as fuck wasn't giving him 500K. He wasn't getting a goddamned dime from me. Then he started in with this "_They're gonna break my legs, son! Help!_" bullshit, and I just have Bret and Chett throw him out. They were more than happy to. They were two years old when he left. I never spoke to him again. Then, of course, when my company fell, what did Mom do? Abandon me. They all did. I was alone. So many times, sitting out there, I thought of killing myself-especially in the beginning...I tried. A few times, in fact. I tried hanging myself-the damn beam broke. I tried to shoot myself, but the gun jammed. It was a brand new fully automatic .380. Tried to drink myself to death, but I just puked and passed out face-down. When I woke up the next morning, I thought that perhaps I wasn't meant to die. Not yet. There is something I'm supposed to do...or I am to live out there in solitude for the rest of my days as punishment. One of those two." He shakes his head. "There's more I would like to say, if you're interested."

"Go ahead."

"My Aunt Grizelda and Uncle Ubb liked to pretend they had no children, but that was a lie. I found that out when I was a teenager, long before I left home. I was 22 when I left home to make my Thneed. My Uncle got drunk, as he was want to do-always whiskey. He told me that he and Grizelda had a baby girl about a month before I was born. Blue eyes, Grizelda's orange-red hair...he told me that the baby was disfigured, but wouldn't say how. He also told me that they buried her alive in the back yard, out by the barn. He tried to justify that...that...horrific act by saying: "She'd never survive like that, Once-ler. Don't look at me like that, boy." You know what I did? I dug her up. I found where she was buried-took a lot of digging to find exactly where around the barn, but I found her. The box was partially rotted and she was just bones wrapped in a blanket covered in decayed, brown blood. I didn't see anything wrong with her. It may have very well been something that rotted away with the rest of her soft tissue, but she looked perfectly normal to me. I held that in, that anger, that rage, for years. Part of me hated them for that. When I was younger, and, I must confess, I sometimes wonder what it would have been like for me growing up if she...if they didn't murder her in the worst possible way. I can't imagine being buried alive. Would we have been close? Would we have been friends? Bret and Chett were horse's asses to me a lot-always called me a sissy and would beat me up. Once, they put me in a bag and locked me in an old wardrobe in the basement. I was in there for four hours. Would she have been there to help me? Someone who loved me, or would she have been like them? I love my family-make no mistake, but they were horrible people." He crosses his legs. "You've listened well, Dr. Pennington. Would you like your treat?" Bewildered and horrified by this man and his tales, Logan simply nods. "Mortimer Perano's mother left when he was six years old, correct?"

"How did you-"

"I said I like to keep an eye on my town...plus, you bring your records home with you. I read them while you were sleeping. Now, he was six years old when she left, right?"

"Yes."

"Mmm-hmm. And how old was Aloysius Iori O'Hare when his older brother died? Hit by a car-a hit and run, no less. Never caught who did it. How old was little, tiny Al, doctor Pennington?"

"He was four..."

"And how much older is Mortimer than his boss?"

"Two years."

"Two plus four is six..." Once-ler smirks.

"What are you getting at?"

"Isn't it obvious? Mortimer Perano's mother-Rosalind Perano-left because she killed Ulysses Isao O'Hare, older brother to Aloysius Iori O'Hare. She is the one who hit and killed the boy while his younger brother-the man that would rule my town-watched at the tender age of four. What a number that did on him. For measures that extreme to be taken-like something out of an anime or video game or something." Once-ler leans in to Logan, the young man flinching. "Do you want to know how I know? How I know this for a fact?"

"Y-yes." Logan says, sheepishly. Once-ler reaches into his jacket and takes out a yellowed piece of notebook paper.

"This," he waves the note a bit, "is how I know for certain. You see, when we were chopping down trees-when we first started, I found a rusted, worn, battered sedan crushed against a Truffula tree, blood all over the hood and a nice big hole in the wind-shield, about the size of an 8-year-old's head. I found her in there, too. She was almost completely decomposed, just blackened skin stretched over bones. Eyes gone, lips peeled back revealing teeth, the gums rotted away. I wouldn't have been able to tell it was a woman if it weren't for the ruined clothes the corpse was wearing. Her head was stuck in the wind-shield. She hit the tree going pretty fast, I think. Suicide. I looked around in the car and found this note in the glove box-a suicide note and a confession, all in one. Would you like for me to read it to you?" Without waiting for Logan to respond, Once-ler begins:

"_I, Rosalind Perano, am the one who killed that poor little boy, Ulysses O'Hare. It is all my fault. The gas pedal on my car got stuck. I laid into the horn, flashed the lights-did all I could to get the boy's attention, but he didn't see. His little brother-God, the boy was just four-saw. He cried out to him. "Lee! Lee! Look! A car's coming! Look out! Lee! Run! Get to the other side! Run!" but "Lee" didn't notice me until it was too late. I pressed against the brake as hard as I could, but I couldn't stop. I slammed into that poor, eight-year-old boy. I hit him hard enough that he flew up onto the hood of the car with his head knocking a hole in the wind-shield. He was dead the second I hit him. The impact shattered his skull. When my car came to a stop, it flung him away, further breaking him. God, forgive me, but I fled. I threw the car into reverse and got out of there as quickly as I could...I could hear the younger boy-Aloysius, the paper says his name is-crying out to his brother again: "LEE! LEE! NO! ONIISAN! LEE! LEE!" screaming, crying. God, what have I done? I killed a child and fled. I left my family; my husband, my two sons-Armand and Mortimer. I left them because I am too much of a coward to face what I've done, to face the punishment I deserve. Accident or not, that little boy is dead and his brother had to watch. All the "I'm sorries" in the world won't fix that. I have come out here to do what I know I need to do. I deserve to die for what I did, but I do not want my sons to see me die. I do not want them to be known as "the sons of that baby-killer". As I committed my sin with this car, I will use it to end myself, to purge myself from this world. I will run this car as hard as it will go into the thickest tree I can find. I will burn in hell for what I've done, and I deserve it. Frankie, Armand, Mortimer, I am sorry. If you find this note, I am all the more sorry. Goodbye, and do not weep for me. -Rosalind Perano_" Once-ler folds the note and hands it to Logan. The younger man just sits, staring. "I'll leave this on the table, then." Once-ler says, laying the note on the short table before him. Without a sound, Once-ler slips back into the shadows. A moment later, Logan hears one of his windows open and close. The Once-ler is gone, returned home. Logan sits up until sunrise.


End file.
